Back of my Buick, parlaying till five,
she commits in the twilight,
Spreading her legs for our slice
of American bliss in the twilight.
Born in a radio time, my love,
here we are, sold out and foreclosed,
White and unforgiven, fueling a
Twittering blitz in the twilight.
Mourn me with beers, baby, drink me and
keep the tears, let me pass through you,
Rising up hot in your stream when you’re
taking a piss in the twilight.
Strips to his jockeys and slips in beside
his young wife, her bare back
Turned to him, lovelessness only their
silence admits in the twilight.
Chasing American dreams been
the ruin of many a poor boy.
Faded Old Glory still selling her sex
and shaking her tits in the twilight.
Ending her childhood a branded
American Beauty by twelve,
Sexual exile to wet dreams of boys
she resists in the twilight.
Dactylic hexes redeem an
American ghazal by Eugene
writing couplets as wicked as
stealing a kiss in the twilight.
– Eugene A. Melino
Orginally published in Eastern Structures No. 3, Spring 2017.
Photo by E.A. Melino, “Twilight on 7th Street,” East Village, NYC, Summer 2018.