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Open Poetry #2

Pizza My Heat

Soleil
Member

since 1999-06-12

Posts 113

0 posted 1999-09-26 06:16 PM

It is an early evening.
Pizza-parlor palominos line
a one-way street
(now bare of boutiques)
With tequila and vulgarity.
Seven hours north of L.A.,
Sweat raises snakes writhing
on trees.
They are wearing tank t-shirts
And low-hung jeans.

There is music crashing
Out of crowded clubs.
Vicky says:
“It’s still sixteen to get
Your working papers.”
Here there is one prescription:
Flophouses, Ihops and
Papa Bears.
Palm to palm.
Yet, no-one stares.
At 2 a.m.
Where are you
When the little bird calls?
“Ahem, ahem.”

With one bite of the teacher’s apple
And incomplete empitephs
Written on blackboards
The little red schoolhouse is no more.

Not unlike a casual drive-by
On the boulevard.

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