The Squat on Good Fortune Street - by A.E. Plastic

was:

- (as I later wrote)

a cross between

a lost property office

and the lair

of Dr. Fu Manchu

- a shaded gooseneck

from the all-nite pharmacy

where you purchased

your maquillage and

extra- strength Tylenol

-where we conjoined

in Rajan’s borrowed bed

like muscles in spasm

he professing carryingly

that it didn’t bother him

if we left stains

You’re not ghosts after all

later he whispered

My turn will come

to screw her too

though he was strung-out by then

on “Be the real you

through Self-Hypnosis”

-where your compeers

hovered like Hindu gods

over somersaulting dice

and in the cum of victory

flashed their teeth

like carving-knives

-where Rajan knocked out

chequered renditions of

“Light my Fire”

on his baby mellotron

choking on dispraise

a premonition

of his final huff

-where my beetle-browed refusal

to work the Schrodinger ticket scam

on the London Underground

became a crow-bar of misgiving

sometimes (as I later wrote)

it’s only recklessness that pays

Comments

[Shari-Lyn McArthur]

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