Creatures of the Night

The man is howling, the woman is sobbing
A break up in the making
It’s not you, it’s me, can’t do this no more
The tearful redhead is mourning the loss of her companion
He walks away triumphant, strutting with pride as if he won a major battle
She collapses, trembling on the sidewalk  
Her laments are incessant
He’s checking out another chick, his carelessness is clear
 
Across the nasty street
By the neon club entrance… The Vibe
The congregation is lining up to invade the temple of beat
You can hear the music, a deafening absurd sound escaping from the door
The crowd is shouting, laughing, dancing, owning the night
Confident they will be saved by their fake identities  
The big black bouncer is bouncing the boys and girls eager to penetrate
The disco labia
 
The streets are packed, the tar is hot, red, green, and yellow
Squealing tires, rich folks in beamers, muscle cars roaring and low riders cruising,  
A cacophony of sound and tunes emanating from the rolled down windows  
The men are cocky sniffing coke and holding their cocks
Hoping to score in between blows, the engines are revved up
Red and blue lights painting the dark skies
The sirens are singing with the symphony of sound  
The blue man crew is out… license and registration please
 
Ranting, mumbling, chatting with his invisible friend
The raggedy middle aged dreadlocked man is roaming the labyrinth of life
Fuck this, fuck that, fuck all of you  
His discontent with his surroundings is obvious
As he passes by, an odor reeks from his persona
A bouquet of cheap liquor, cigarette and piss
His walk is interrupted by sudden stops, he gazes around  
As if he is engulfed with a divine mythical aura
 
A shack in a corner lot, leaning against a crumbling building
Like two drunkards clinging to each other for fear of falling
The aroma of falafel and Philly cheese steaks is waltzing in the air
Ali, the owner, tends to his patrons, pressing the workers in the heat of the furnace
Sizzling oil dropping on a hot stove, flirting knives, pots and pans.  
The cymbals and drums make up the beat
A horde of hungry warriors amassing by the grill
The smoking empire is at its peak
 
The painted amazon is ready for battle
purple wig, denim mini skirt and pink tank top
Filiform legs camouflaged with a black net  
The red high heels walk the beat better than a constable
Rubber Trojan warriors overflowing her minuscule purse
Nonchalantly strolling with hawk eyes waiting to strike a knight
You have to pay the levy to cross the bridge  
How much?
 
The night is over and the end is near
The echo of the woman sobbing is drowned in the noise
The Vibe is facing a deluge of raucous crowds
The blow snorting Casanova is in handcuffs
The pale Rasta made more friends, invisible I suppose
A fight broke out at Ali’s place over a side of fries
And the courtesan is nowhere to be seen, a warrior crossed the bridge I reckon
I, king of one night, monarch of one evening, in this urban jungle make my way
Through the hypnotic wave of endangered species and dark creatures