Arcade

Arcade

Like locus they arrive
In waves
To feast on their fill
Of the deadliest fried
Delights. Lips smack happily
Streaked with grease as
Idle chatter pushes
Through the mouthfuls

Some come for the
‘Best Shoeshine in Nashville!’
Razor-lipped businessmen sit
In stoney silence while
Black hands buffer and
Black mouths speak only
To each other

Upstairs
The walls are weary they
Bear the burden of
Obscene art that nobody
Will buy

The Russian-owned gallery
Is the most American of
Them all. Hers is a practice
Of bloated pride. She of
Ruble-less origin now
Hawks her pedestrian
Vision with
The best of them!

All of this where
Hanged men once twitched
And kicked as the
Last bit of life
Leaked out

Their spirits evicted
Divorced from the corpse
Whose swollen tongues
Played peek-a-boo
With passer bys

What a span we’ve traversed
In a century’s time!

Advertisements

Leave a comment

Filed under Uncategorized

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s