poem of the day 02.17.10

concrete ambrosia

it’s usually the same pack
of them standing outside the pastry shop
on third avenue

the same pack of arab teenagers
dressed like thugs

like television rappers
with gold chains and thick rings

they are probably harmless morons
but i won’t place a total bet on that fact

my wife and i call them the arab mafia

i mean what other reason do these guys have
to stand in front of a pastry shop on a weeknight?

the other kids stand in front of the bagel joint
or the subway sandwich shop
or they’re at home

maybe the pastry shop is their territory

typically i pay them no mind
except to laugh at them, at the folly of youth

but last night as we passed
one of them
the fat one in his yankees hat
and full down north face jacket

last night the fat one was standing a little bit
away from the pack
smoking his newports
taunting whatever girls
were walking down the street

he told two of them that he’d
fuck them all in the ass

he didn’t seem so funny in that moment

still i don’t think the dumb prick could get
it up for that long
unless he was looking at one of his friend’s
hairy assholes

but the comment made me stop

i looked back at the cocksucker

he eyed me and i eyed him
until my wife moved me along reluctantly

as we walked up the street i could hear him
taunting more women
bragging about fucking them in the asses
putting his cock wherever
he damned well pleased

i looked back one more time
at this cardboard arab god of third avenue
i could swear he was looking at me

they’ll be another time for this, i thought
another time to suck that fucker down
like the nectar of an orange

tonight’s just not my night.