Nov 26, 2010

Circles: an Experiment

Brad tugged a cigarette from the box,
rolled it back up his short sleeve, flicked
a lighter open and birthed a cherry. He flexed
his tat for Audrey, whose backside tensed
in her pleated skirt.

Something in the efficient grumble of V-eights,
of a moon slipping down the arch of night,
pink so striking it cannot belong,
gum, lipgloss: signs and portents;
something in the meaty
compost of bodies, the music, the brawn of engines.

Audrey felt the chugging pistons knock,
the oily crowbar at the knees,
the stink of metal and heat. She kept her lips closed,
flipped her gum like a pancake, her tongue
flattened, pushed, until it hurt.

The bleechers shook, the young mothers
cupped their babies round the ears. Kerchiefs,
white tiaras, and the infinite blessing
of breathable cotton
walked in a pungent sheen
under the lights or did the seats a kindness
with a more mundane kind of shifting.

"So, they squeal around the track
like crazy planets, growl and bear their teeth,
push and bump and bang like toddlers
over a stuffed frog?"
"Stop being such a pain in the ass."