nearly spent

Poverty’s gravity pulls them to these squat, chain-link slums, the peeling-paint shacks with blue-dragon-scale wood siding tilt toward clouded-sunset’s shadowy mortality. Outside the cement-block laundromat, a girl wearing green shorts twirls flowing brown hair ’round a slender finger under a pale-flicker bulb, and stares at me. I look back for as long as I dare, driving slowly– knowing her only for a moment, enough to know her as much as we ever dare know anyone. She’ll have her share of slick-back salesmen like me. She’ll seduce each one– turn away most, fall for a few, but always with something withheld. She’ll make each flawed man feel the bulging-vein sovereignty of a god– as they mount her. Tho none will ever write her a poem; none will ever see the frayed-seam bloody-club anarchy rioting in her eyes. None will hear the bastille-moans of missed destiny’s buried history, wavering and lonely in the mournful hymns her voice sings; the bottled-water, debt-slave suburbs await my return, and the fuel in the tank– nearly spent.

2 Replies to “nearly spent”

  1. This was breathlessly good. The vividness of the imagery didn’t falter for even two or three words. The language was fiercely intelligent and discriminate. It felt like I was being paid a compliment for assuming I would get every side-alley cultural reference and understand each arcane metaphor. This also has so many muse triggers for me, so thank you. I can’t wait to read more from this blog.

    You have portrayed a whole world here. Complex, nuanced, with layers of subtle helplessness, terror, redolent and profound sadness, and somehow (surprisingly), a sense of something higher, almost powerful. I dare say only intimacy with the subject could produce this level of complexity in writing, but it could also be that you’re simply a shaman of expression. Either way, I adored this. I cared for this. For the people and the place. Thank you.

    Like

    1. Iris, that was a beautiful comment. Thank you. I suppose my strongest hope in writing is that someone come to know the souls about which I write, that they (and the collective ‘we’) matter in ways they (and we) hadn’t even known. Thank you for reading this. I hope your day is lovely 🙂

      Like

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