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Man Watches Man

Poetry & Prose | March 24, 2014

Start:

 

Fake hardwood and matching gold teeth.

You lived across from the Oakdale Discotheque.

You were rippin capsules,

Your brain was wet,

You knew all the words.

Cola bottle shake baby

I was a cup shaped receptacle,

I was stuck between plastic fruit and la cucarachas,

I watched with one eye open.

The tenor moaned of post-matrimony under a pulsing discoball,

Touching himself slowly with sleeping hand.

We danced like tire swings.

 

End:

 

You lay on your face,

In a tomato field by our house.

A halo circled each of your toes:

Insects that wanted more juice.

You were a pestle forgotten in the stalks,

Left remembering soil.

The sun fell as I ran.

My headphones slipped down,

But a deep throated singer still hummed:

Freaking my mind out

so far out, oh my

I can’t unremember

Even if I want to.

You would pretend to be Greek

while I watched Athens swing between your legs.