deepundergroundpoetry.com
On Broad Street
(a sonnet)
In fevered wind of lung spent diesel smoke,
And midnight fires on trails of wolf path rites,
On bent knee falls, we worshipped, blood stained, broke,
As our guts emptied rust of boho nights.
The cat-call wails of crewcut truck stop boys,
Who shed their terror in Budweiser cans,
The monsters reach, our flannel shrouds, destroys,
In shreds, at bay, their blow-job mouths’ withstand.
The redneck doth protest too much, methinks,
Their claims of wanton gay resolve, their yells,
Succumb at forty-five to gym-hard twinks,
As streetlight can and spraying beer foretells.
That mischief night, our cry, “we cannot hear!”
Red-face resounds, as truck boys disappear.
In fevered wind of lung spent diesel smoke,
And midnight fires on trails of wolf path rites,
On bent knee falls, we worshipped, blood stained, broke,
As our guts emptied rust of boho nights.
The cat-call wails of crewcut truck stop boys,
Who shed their terror in Budweiser cans,
The monsters reach, our flannel shrouds, destroys,
In shreds, at bay, their blow-job mouths’ withstand.
The redneck doth protest too much, methinks,
Their claims of wanton gay resolve, their yells,
Succumb at forty-five to gym-hard twinks,
As streetlight can and spraying beer foretells.
That mischief night, our cry, “we cannot hear!”
Red-face resounds, as truck boys disappear.
Published 19th Jan 2019
Author's Note
one night in college - we kept screaming after the pick-up that we hadn't heard their gay slurs, until the passenger was screaming, red-faced, half-way out the window as they turned the corner
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