The Wedding Party

From nearby windows,

on a busy street,

moon-shaped faces

hung out over their windowsills

like bags of dirty laundry.

The passing wedding car was an oasis

in the desert clime of heavy traffic.

They were too far away

to see the bride’s tears,

just her profile –

“lovely,” they said, as one,

as the dark crept in.

Every head contained a dream,

each as wobbly as water,

for they were once brides themselves,

abloom at first

but now living the devastation.

What began as a sun-bound chariot

became a limousine

more miserable than a coffin.

Small Town Bar Scene

a bar

peanut shells

and cigarette butts

a half-empty

beer glass

baseball game

on a TV

red eyes

slurred tongue

slumped body

and the slow

spinning stool

that the world

has reserved

for Jacko

Desert Town At Dusk

It’s dusk

in this desert town.

Streets dusty,

no world beyond,

sweat runs from my skin

as a cool breeze

finds me at last.

Far from home,

no one knows me.

The bars let loose.

The church is bolted.

Those who feel

safest inside

are on their way there.

The ones that

night seeks out

are oh so easily found.

The stranger has a choice;

sequester himself away

or join up with the madness.

But a stranger

has a thirst.

It’s not so easily hid from.