The Writer’s Workshop

It was the perfect place to lounge

Tired musicians from last night’s gig

Labeled ashtrays and glasses you could scrounge

One old drummer playing his twigs

The jukebox was full of jazz

Some played along but no real pizzazz

It was ten in the morning, smoke filled the air

Lungs complained but nobody cared

Some little boys from the neighborhood

Would sneak in to listen but knew they shouldn’t

Smaller fingers pretend to play

Dreaming that maybe one day

After a rousing night, they’d be found

Lazily sitting at the Dewdrop Lounge.

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This Week’s Writer’s Workshop Prompts: January 6, 2026