deepundergroundpoetry.com

Smokers outside the court

Eyes open against the road
 
suburban trees still sleeping
in their star-spangled annihilation,
branches glistening with nightmares
all soaked up in moon-sweat.
 
I’ve driven out for so little
 
cigarettes, today’s headlines,
the trap-door of the store sprung
in a daily madness of groceries,
a sarcastic refrigerator  
taunting me with reflections
of a sleepless beard.
 
I pick up four cans for the road
throwing money at the cashier
with the white-trash name tag
 
she smiles as if it means something,
drops coins into my open palm
and I walk away pretending
I didn’t notice the curl of her lip
that never gets old.
 
The truck shakes, takes a gasp
as I turn left onto the avenue;
court is already adjourned
as two men throw spit  
across the sidewalk
 
a vacant woman stands watching
behind her dark rimmed glasses,
she holds a smoke in her right hand
not flinching before the raw meat  
searing itself on the heat of the win
 
her face  
a stagnant wall I hide behind
in the drunk veil of morning.
24601
Written by 24601 (John Brady)
Published
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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