Sunday, April 2, 2017

Today Fresh Medudo [Grease on the Screen]

Cold Sunday night but they’re tired of waiting
broke out the short skirts and tight jeans 
and roared downtown in their SUV
sending out rippling sound waves of bass
TODAY FRESH MENUDO 
on a fluorescent pink sheet of posterboard,
the only English words  on the side of a food cart 
otherwise covered in Arabic garish pictures of hummus platters
Caravans of cop cars pass the burger joint
inside I’ve slathered my fries in mayonnaise,
there’s a smear on the window blurring the headlight
Everyone yells to be heard over the blasting music
“Champagne cocaine gasoline and everything in between”
the singer screams everything feels
loosely wound and 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 playing wears
a tshirt with a picture of the Milky Way
a tiny arrow pointing, “You Are Here”
Thick, beefy necks covered with bristles
flanked by surprisingly delicate earlobes.
Meaty lips and razorblade bra straps
Grins full of Coca-cola teeth, 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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