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.