Monday, August 31, 2015

poem of the day 08.31.15

the egyptian

the club
has interrogation white lights
a contrast to the sunset-red beach theme
that’s running through this place
young drunks kick beach balls
on another 1980s throwback night
i stand with steve
we talk about bad luck
pounding back coors pounders on special
he won’t stop talking about
the blow job he got the week before
the only action any of us
have seen in months
calvin is somewhere dancing
doing his old man shuffle-shit
with one of my cigarettes in his mouth
insuring he won’t get laid again this weekend
when i see her
too well-dressed for this place
she’s walking like an egyptian with her friends
doing those familiar hand motions
such sweet innocence
i kill the beer and dip my head toward them
steve giving me one of those
you must be kidding me looks
but we go over anyway
just drunk enough to see if this’ll work
she stops dancing at my little love tap on her shoulder
i ask her where she learned to move
but i’m no dummy
bangles videos bangles videos that i watched
with such studiousness
until emblazoned in my masturbatory memory
but she demonstrates it for me anyway
hand extended out and then in
she seems real enough
and i’ve got steve talking to her friend
thinking the night is set
thinking the hell with calvin out there
somewhere in the red hell beach lights
i search for him
and when i look back she’s gone
it’s just steve standing there
shrugging, we head back toward the bar
for more pounders
more talk about blow jobs
i scan the club like i scan the horizon in summer
see her all the way over at the other end
sweet child o’mine
she’s doing a mean
axel rose.


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