PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

Tonight,people are dancing to anything readily available
and I'm watching the crowds of people watch each other.
I see the creases in old tennis shoes working themselves out.

Proper drunken debauchery.
The lights are all a buzz and yet subtle, giving
hope to even the hardest to look at.
All the while little red plastic cups

are shuffled and crushed underfoot.

I see puzzled erections bulging for the attention
of the ladies fair that are busy clutching their purses
and stuffing cotton bullets to plug frustration.
The drinks are flowing freely.
Phone numbers are exchanged and

discarded within minutes of one another.

The couch in the corner holds promise for the couple
that thinks their clothes on approach
to fucking has gone unnoticed.
Elsewhere you can find the snorters hiding
in the bathroom stalls, the lonely, the destitute with
their plastic baggies shifting from hurried fingers
to sweaty socks.
I find solace in the fact that
these demons are sure to devour

one another in due time.
They'll awaken tomorrow

only to blow bloody snot on pristine shower walls.

They'll scrub their crotches and exfoliate their faces.
They will try to rid themselves of blackheads and
that feeling inside.
Neither will be removed.
Then I wonder if I'd ever have a chance
to question God and his reasonings.
His universal plan that paved the way for
Jerry Springer and his eager minions shuffling from
broken homes to televised boot camps.

I wonder if God would even make the time
to hear me out, having some archangel pencil
me in on a fancy scroll.
I think about the almighty's reaction to my queries...
the gasps from his awe stricken angelic flock.
I mull over the consequences that could befall me
and the pure embodiment of risk that I was to embrace.
Just at that moment the overhead lights
came ripping on and a large man with
tired eyes a flashlight made his way through
the place yelling,

"You don't have to go home,but you can't stay here!"

Ray Strickland 9/15/08