Sunday, February 28, 2010

Speak to Me (Payphone)

People were getting drunk earlier
that night.
There was a certain desperation in the air.
Valentine's Day was two days away.

Three men stumbled on the street,
beers spilling on the
sidewalk.

Another man pissed on a busy street
in the open,
in front of an ad
with three women in bikinis
surrounded by
palm trees.
Mouth agape,
smoking a cigarette,
he stares at three women he will
never have,
while he pisses his
February piss.

Bodega owners smoked in their stores.
I settled for coffee,
but of course would be
switching to beer soon.
The cup was hot.
"She is out getting fucked!"
Snickered a rat as he ran before me like a
good luck charm.

Oh, how many lives are like these?
Lonely like a 21st century payphone.
Can you tell me ugly streets and dirty snow?
Speak to me, street lights.
Your nicotine teeth glow is not bright
enough for us.
How many lives are as lonely as these?
Dozens raise their hands.

At the party,
I'd switched to beer.
Twenty some young men and only two
young women.

It was a swarm.

Two of the boys wrestle
in the kitchen.
One's head shoved in the others
crotch,
grasping at his chest
in this new decade's
most unintentional erotic display.

Another does line after line of cocaine,
quietly by himself.
He smiles,
for a second.

I would stay till the early morning hours,
when the blue and yellow peeks through.

How many lives are as lonely as these?
Hundreds raise their hands.

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