“A song poem reminiscent of "Momma Told Me Not to Come"”

Momma said, “That’s not the door,  
You don’t know what lies behind—  
Neon lights on the checkerboard floor  
And the music’s out of time.”  
She warned me with a look, half grin,  
A wag of her careful finger:  
“Don't trust every tune that pulls you in,  
Some melodies tend to linger.”

I found myself in a room so bright  
With laughter too quick to be kind.  
Drinks swirled gold in Saturday light—  
Trouble, just waiting to find.  
The jukebox played a ragged thrill,  
Bass thumping under each word;  
My shoes scuffed time against their will,  
But Momma's warning I heard:

“No matter the rhythm, no matter the drum,  
Not every party is where you come from—  
Sometimes the high notes are desperate and dumb:  
Momma told me not to come.”

A man in a suit with a loosened tie  
Sang blues to the bubble and foam;  
Women in sequins with a shimmering eye  
Were searching for someone to go home.  
Curses hung heavy in perfumed air—  
So much that I wanted to run.  
But Momma’s voice, sweet and rare,  
Whispered, “Child, go chase the sun.”

So I thanked the jukebox, tipped my hat  
To the bouncer by the door.  
The night behind me fell just flat,  
I didn't want any more.  
I walked on out as dawn begun,  
The city all haze and hum—  
No regret for the party done:  
Momma told me not to come.

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