wandering dirty sixth street
crossing in
and out of bars wondering
if I could do the random carnal thing
while she slept
pounding drinks
infuriated by exhaustion, depression
her medication,
waiting
always waiting
just my fate isn’t it?
the good guy always destined to wait but oh, oh if he embarks on sin
let him suffer whether he does or not
the full brunt of whatever
and whoever
has come before
masked blue velvet eyes and platinum hair
looking for fight instead
too in love to fuck
a random stranger
fight instead
like the younger days
despite the dislocated shoulder
back pain
hernia
remember the time you broke the rich boy’s legs for money?
how that was the best burger you ever ate in a motel room after spending about three months living out of a honda civic?
WHERE ARE THE SIX-SHOOTERS AND THE TEN GALLON WHITE COWBOYS HATS?!
Give me some of the cartel cocaine on the street
how is this “dirty”?
police have it closed off
get you cab right outside the barricades across from a Starbucks
Apparently, no one rides horses down the street
in Austin
but my Sri Lankan cab driver is obsessed
with an Irish racecar driver
“The gentlemen racer”
telling me
where to dine, drink and dance
with my girl
when she wakes up
if she ever wakes up…
Did I wander into an Irish pub in Texas intermingling flirtatiously with a Mexican waitress drinking a locally brewed IPA bonding over water never drank but dutifully ordered by families drunk and loading babies into car seats?
Yes, I did…
Instead of blindly stumbling into an oil field
not unlike one in my dreams
where two transsexual women took an effeminate rich boy
fucking him from both ends
as the field burst into flames
one having a portrait of the other between her breasts
real raven haired pulp femme fatale cutie type
if you’re into that kind of thing
of which you
I or maybe all of us may be
Suffocating pores
“at least there is tacos and beer”
the bald Englishmen of a sexually questionable nature
as three artificial menopausal barbies
walked past
needing to be waterboarded
my ride home
the Russian orphan
with a kid on the way
bonding over slyly veiled drug trade
talked to me of bats
the sunset
then sighed as we drove away
from the lawfully erected border
“They block off the street
to keep the civilized tigers
from eating the rest.”
Mike Zone is the author of A Farewell to Big Ideas, Void Beneath the Skin, Better than the Movie: 4 Screenplays and Fellow Passengers: Public Transit Poetry, Meditations and Musings. A contributing poet to Mad Swirl and contributing writer to the graphic novel series American Anti-hero by Alien Buddha Press. His poetry and stories have appeared in: Horror Sleaze Trash, The Daily Dope Fiend, Outlaw Poetry, The Rye Whiskey Review, Synchronized Chaos and Triadæ Magazine.
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