Smack, the door
The street whirs and clops, slides, squeals and drips. Crunch through alleys, and check your back
Then briefly raised eyes note the noise, the neighbors, never before seen strangers, the colors of the sky, the rote on the path
Shifting fabric, tight leather and make-upped lips, blouses and bling, the singing blind, the mariachi band, the dark skin, single-minded, not interested, do not threaten me, but check out my fucking ass
Hot caffeine heats the hand, quickly downed grains turn queasy with fruit and the heavy sack of books, business cards, cell phone Ready for action
Rolling wheel, shift, shift, shift, move, stop, shift, move. Dodging breathing barriers, hips, elbows and sickness, avoid mouth and eyes, no thank you, no, no time, no change, no nothing
Making for the green walking man but getting the orange hand. Paused, momentum held like the coiled jackhammer spring. Single-minded staring
Clang, grunt, clang, metal on metal, release, stone chunks shift, fly, katharsis, release, yes, clang, yes, clang, Yes, clang, YES, CLANG, YES, getting down at the orange hand
Spit, sip, glance, shift, green man, walk, heavy bag, shift, young skirt, hips, glance, stirring sex, hand on door. Impromptu plans, girl onto the bed, naked breasts, beautiful everything and wild fucking, a devoted, wonderful person, a lifetime of joy
Eyes up and jump onto the rising metal teeth, squeezed between, another sexually needy, breathing, caffeine loaded being, avoiding physical anything, dreaming too
Repeat five times. Sixth floor. Countdown of nine, eight, seven...
Fluorescent bees greet, along with juvenile seats
Pause
This is our poetic outlet. Two friends who grew up in Whitehorse, Yukon, Canada together now find the time to write poetry. Thelonious Janke and Andrew Buchan