coney island in the snow
at the corner of mermaid and stillwell
there are no families coming off the train
with blankets and packed food
to hit the beach
there are no teenage girls
with tight asses in bikinis
torturing boys
no roller coasters running on tracks
no beer island full of aging jocks
drinking light beer
no seaside bars full of hipster drunks
playing kitschy songs on jukeboxes
there are no hot dog eating contests
or funnel cakes
no fat men sleeping on benches
with their fat wives
there’s just me
holding a cup of decaf coffee
in the crooked snow
watching the empty subway tracks
the only white guy around this time of year
breathing in the salt air of the ocean
as one derelict smokes a raspberry scented cigar
while screaming at someone
about how he slept outside all night
in the cold and snow and rain
even though he has six million dollars in the bank
as another genius checks payphones, hoping for a score
...now i see why
everyone keeps raving
about this place
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1 comment:
poetic in its rawness. As an aside, having spent many summers at the Jersey shore, I can honestly say that there is nothing more creepy than a boardwalk out of season. In the snow, perhaps an more so...
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