Out on the balcony sits a man
dressed as a skeleton with an
erection that is part of his costume
but also might not be.
He’s talking to woman dressed in black
whose complaining that her costume
She points to a man dancing
by himself in wheezing fog
and splintered streaks of neon light,
a man naked but for the costume
which he stole which is a foam
and nylon re-creation of a bottle
of lubricant. The woman says,
That’s my boss. I work for that man.
She shrugs her shoulders and says
Excuse me, and hobble-dances to
the dancefloor where she presses
herself against this grotesque figure
dressed as KY jelly, who is in a position
to one day give her a raise or fire her
straight out. They dance an entire song,
and the lubricant man twirls and wobbles
and spins in a drunken trance aggravated
by the music, and the woman smiles
only when he faces her, and loses all life
in her eyes when he turns away.
Written at 9:36 at night, in my office, in Agoura Hills CA.