poem of the day 05.17.10

four brunettes

four brunettes
in a black convertible
driving slowly up 3rd avenue
like they’re in a debutante parade
like the fashion mafia
as thunder sounds in the distance
and we all brace for a spring storm

four brunettes
in a black convertible
driving slowly up 3rd avenue
with their pop music blasting out
into the yellow-gray evening
looking so careless and dumb
that the rest of us never had a chance

four brunettes
in a black convertible
driving slowly up 3rd avenue
with the top down as a soft rain begins to fall
looking for boys who will
use their asses in joy all summer long

four brunettes
in a black convertible
stopped at a red light on 3rd avenue
pointing and laughing at an old man
with his hands so deep in his pocket
that he looks like he’s playing
with his cock

me

four brunettes
in a black convertible
tearing up 3rd avenue
their heads back in bliss
their music fading in the distance
as the rain comes down harder
on brooklyn in may

why try?
why even try?
i think, finding the two quarters
that i needed
for a can of beer
finding an old movie ticket
for a film that i’ve forgotten

why try?
in a world full of
four brunettes
in a black convertible
sunglasses covering their almond eyes
the world at their tanned feet
and everything else at the tip
of their manicured fingertips.