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.
 
Iíve driven out for so little
 
cigarettes, todayís 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 didnít 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
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