THIS IS A POEM ABOUT A SKELETON AND A DANCING BOTTLE OF LUBRICANT 10.30.17

10.30.17

 

 

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
was stolen.
By who?
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. 

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