Friday, September 28, 2012

poem of the day 09.28.12

the devil is in designer clothes

the devil is in designer clothes
or maybe they’re knock-offs

she tells everyone on the subway
that she got the blouse in india
when she was there last summer

only three bucks, she says
i knocked him down from five

i think, well, at least there’s one person
coming out like roses in the global economy

i live in jersey, she says
for no reason
and when i get home i got a pitcher of margaritas
waiting for me

an old asian woman nods and smiles
keeps looking at the next train stop

you need margaritas
on a hot day like this, she says,
looking around

but people are engrossed in their gadgets
in each other

only i’m dumb enough
to be on this train with no other diversion

she looks me up and down
focuses on the bag at my feet
with a famous liquor store’s name
emblazoned on the front

what you got in there, sweetheart?
she says
as we come upon my stop

the rest of my afternoon, i tell her
as i rise and head out the doors

even as the train pulls away
i can hear her laughing and repeating
what  i just said

the rest of my afternoon, she cackles
did yeah hear him?
did yeah?
as the train disappears into black oblivion

and the quiet envelops me
like a set of warm, soft mother’s hands.


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