Sunday, April 2, 2017

Today Fresh Medudo [Grease on the Screen]

Cold Sunday night
Tired of waiting for Summer they broke out
the short skirts and tight jeans 
and roared downtown
waves of bass rippling from their SUVs
on a fluorescent pink sheet of posterboard,
the only English words  on the side of a food cart 
otherwise covered in Arabic beneath
garish pictures of hummus platters
Caravans of cop cars pass the burger joint
wheree I’ve slathered my fries in mayonnaise
staring out at the blurry headlights through the smeared window
“Champagne cocaine gasoline and everything in between”
the singer screams, everyone yelling to be heard over him
The world feels loosely wound, spinning much too fast
The cut was deeper than it looked. The edges of the crack were sharp.
Metal studs and leather fringe
Vintage arcade games, spinning Galaga starships
spraying pixels in all directions.The guy clutching the joystick wears
a tshirt with a picture of the Milky Way and a tiny arrow pointing
“You Are Here”
Thick, beefy necks covered with bristles
flanked by surprisingly delicate earlobes.
Meaty lips and razorblade bra straps
Mouths full of Coca-cola teeth and cigarette breath
I look down at my hand, the stamp on the back reads
PARTY ON. I don’t remember where I got it,
where it’s supposed to get me back into.
We keep crashing into one another:
my brain and my skull, 
my gaze and the sticky glob 
clinging to the rim of my beer. 
Mastiffs on choke chains, guy in camo gear
pushing a shopping cart full of black eyes
and chipped teeth and slabs of cheap pizza,
he’s no more homeless than the rest of us
scattered by the static and clutching our phones
smeared into abstract flashes of fuzzy light

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