Chat-up Lines

“You are hotter than a syphilitic phoenix cock”,
said the young man. The words, though rehearsed,
didn’t float from his larynx as suavely as hoped,
and he glanced blankly at the book.

Feeling the world laugh at him
through the fat silver tongue of the mirror,
he looked up, once at his reflection,
and then outside. The birds’

burlesque was effortless. Even the cars
were capable of pirouettes. He needed
an accessory!—perhaps a polka dot bandana,
or, in the long run, a Van Damme torso,

or membership to the oyster and clam bar,
ah, to dive, to dive…maybe he’d learn to drive,
pick her up at eight, her with the lashes…It was strange,
as for years there’d been plenty of washing and scrubbing,

and he knew most of the deodorant slogans;
he could make a damn good slush puppy since his work
at the stadium; chewing stick after stick
of chewing gum, his minty mouth never smelt of sick.

All it needed was the right linguistic key:
“your heart, madam, at once”…too much arrogance?
A shuckful hesitation was sure to sweeten the deal,
something a tiny bit embarrassing, yes:

“My mother keeps me clean with soapy splashes!” No…
That was not the deal-breaker. He pushed the button
on the remote control and a freeze-frame
from Rebel Without a Cause appeared on the widescreen.

For the rest of the long afternoon he stared at the glow
of James Dean’s hovering ash.

Comments

[silent lotus]

dear James

an interesting unmindful mind of internal conversation
with an inquisitive comparison of imagery
Van Damme vs Dean that brings two different time periods
as examples of the timelessness of youths questioning.

look forward to hearing from other pens about it.

smiles
silent lotus