Saturday, September 22, 2007

at two am

at two am they tire of x-box and easy mac
and come to the merry-go-round in my backyard
completely sober, impatient and bored
round and round, they try to make their own shooting stars
squealing, laughing and snorting their case for a fire hose.

the dullard stares from the front row
with shameless headphones, vacuous eyes and flytrap maw.
a new haircut is plenty dashing but does little to commend
the empty hands and po-jama posture
all making their case for yardsticks and the draft.

in a mustard-colored shirt with buttons
the skin of his face the color of mustard
and his hair the spicy tone of a fancier mustard
this man sits across the room from me and dozes through the meeting
heated by southern afternoon light through the open blinds.
his watch face flashes sharply in my eyes like a heliograph
transmitting his soporific appeal for spitwads and rubber bands.

3 comments:

The Mediocre Gatsby said...

That's great!

Esteban said...

!Es Bueno!

T.R. said...

BB guns beat spitwads