Published in Volume 2 - 2001 of
Mi Poesias
Did I Find the Articulated Dreams of Utopia?
I was not afraid to get my hands dirty,
to eat paste or to use a knife as a brush.
I would do anything to hold off the crushing banality of life.
My eyes cast a focused beam
on the road to the west.
I took one,
purely portable, very personal
humidifier and a stack of twenties.
Days later, in the bowels
of a glaring red and white diner,
a waitress with a voice that had no bottom
served me a slice of apple pie
and whispered,
Never underestimate the power
of the underground unknown.
I shrugged and stuck my gum
behind the dirty curtain
on the chipped window pane.
A spoon glittered
like a fake smile
beneath the next booth.
The bus boy, Pedro, snorted like a bull.
He and his boss lusted for this waitress.
She wore size 16 black stretch pants
and her ass jiggled like Jell-O.
I remember how
she jotted down my order
with sad hands,
wide scars,
pink; inside each wrist.
Had she made this trip too?
©Tasha 2000
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