Joey Cloudy online

After She Gets On the Bus

These are the euthanasia mornings when the 609 moon is steel 

a raised sepia nipple heavy with wet light waiting 

for some bigmouth to suckle the verse 

out of this is how you craft your own fate

out run the cops and out live the rest

keep breathing long enough to get the one

woman that gets you to walk down these streets as if 

they were named after you and when the early rising 

neighbors turn to wave their soft white hands greeting you 

with their small good mornings reply , “It is.”

flashing your trademarked snaggle toothed smile

talk to the old trees for history lessons

heed the deepening voices of treed chicks

witness the old house wood framed with rose bushes

mounting the honeysuckle, more scent than scene, 

admire the petite cement Saint 

Francis of Assisi sculpture summoning wild

birds, squirrels and feral felines to the fat cats yard

then just go home take off the worn leather jacket

pour yourself a strawberry margarita

blaze up a sweet little captain black cigar

fold the poems into paper airplanes

and fly them into the sun. 

5/5/06 9:35:08 AM

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