Tuesday Girl
She buffed her nails below intercity pillars among
marooned residential foyers of
furbished crimson carpeting
outside an illumined metropolis thronged in humane ordeal as
couples strolled broad avenues of pensive daylight
minute shards of torpid heat ascended then
pounced along grave city sidewalk fissures
(In filial recollection of our loose dialogue one early Summer Tuesday)
We sat beneath the ashen oaks of West Virginian skies, sullenly reposed upon thy servile grandmothers porch-swing, your mauve corduroy pants shimmered in naive tranquility, greening hills of pasteurized fields ran before our wide adolescent scope, off from work and intuitively woven from the inevitable fall of yore's empyrean nymphets, akin to tupperware and hand-me-down socks, sordid change fell from my county overalls, frolicking atop soiled backyard plots,
Younger then and
far from adulthood's usurious expectation, askew from worn backseat childhood safety-locks, hungover planned parenthood mornings awaited dimly on a bleak horizon,
Childless in the forlorn year of the stem-cell Pentecost
Benevolent daydreams of our out of season Tuesday girl, grimly alone in familiar depravity, carousing Kerouac and Cassidy's lost fictional America, once thriving in falsified treasures and fortified pastimes.
Caffeine boredom circumscribed a latent weekend coffee-shop, a dismal freight train howled in the remote distance while
indoors a local cash register rang somewhere amidst
menial clanging of porcelain mugs and glassed demitasses.
Outside afterburners arrayed in nomadic village decorum, rainbow seasons of proffered infertility; contemporary vegan prostitutes non-hesitatingly indignant, deprecatingly indifferent to diversified variance, stagnantly introverted
only concerning themselves with fossil fuel theatrics.
"We hung out on South St. with no Money"
Damn kids these days,
I'll tell you Mama Pajama, got these convert cats rockin' the free-love cradle with silver spoons in their mouths being fed piecemeal the Book Of Revelation
Her lips dully pursed in tawn sheets of residential afternoon increment
onto sallow deadend streets our orphan children sleep, glumly disfigured and suckling, the convalescent swelling of summer mouths uncouth
with rotten coca-cola teeth as
inevitable August ruthlessly approached
these broods of bastard stepchildren wistfully pine
over their unacceptable macabre inconvenience
(Within Institutional Boundaries)
Dissolute and disorientated, her pallid skin trembled to the sight of stray mammals piercing her livid ken with illiterate characterizations, she shorted her cigarette, cursed herself then went back inside through the broad gate
back into her parents disapproval
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