... poem ..., ... poems ..., ... poetry ...

weekend getaway

with mad precipitance
we bounced out of there,
fifty-eight dollars and
two cans of a six pack
stuffed neatly in your

you broke a heel on the corner and
let my drunk ass fall onto the
cold, wet pavement.

the blinking bank clock across
the street painted
3:47 in reverse on stained black glass.

we just sat there for a moment,

like a dime store postcard,
two wretches, hose torn,
trousers wet;
one miscreant
and a tramp

hours before we chuckled
while you spread red lipstick
across your mouth as i
sat, rolling a joint
on the edge of the tub
playing with the frilly ends
of your little black dress.

the in-wall air conditioner hummed
and rattled in a cacophony of
afternoon sex, and daytime T.V.


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