Ghazals for the City (3 Ghazals)
Too tall for rapists; short buggers all, got my quarters anyway.
Interested eyes beware or at least think before a broken nose.
Got a jig going here, that streetlight power-jig, a fancy-dance
across a bridge too tall for my sword-sized shadow.
I'll take a size six, the best women live too tall, too high
on the buggery scale that hangs obvious in the fish market.
Yellow hands wave from violated parking meters. One to
a corner. That's a too tall John; imagine the dick.
You can time the looks, three back in two minutes mean worry.
Four in one is fear and those are never too tall.
Ghazal- Get Them
Get them out, these hump-riding street-crawlers;
get them out, like a lung-full of cheap smoke.
A ten-dollar bill on a string, a high-rise stop sign.
Get them out of the gutter, but watch for holes.
Take a twist on that dirty tongue, spit on the street.
Get them the goods little boy, sidestep the cardboard.
Watch the windows, silver-backed brushes with long strokes.
Get them to promise, just promise, just one more promise.
Even the dogs hump in this part of town, that wet-fur smell.
Get them their muscles and crawl, crawl, crawl, crawl.
Ghazal- On Concrete
Left in a weary weep of black paint on concrete,
Mister Big-name blistered. Missed in the subways.
Coughing in the john, pumping sweet-fat Rikki
on concrete while no one stares or cares.
With the risk-rules riding the sides of buses,
heads and shoes wear on concrete to a wet smudge.
Color-chalked peacocks on concrete, the rain
the stain that fools old men in from the cold.
On concrete, piss steams in an early-morning river,
nearer to the whistle, nearer still the train