The Fucking World
with apologies to Jennifer Grotz
The big fat bursts of sound
bloom like fireworks
and ripen us for the fucking.
Tonight we inhabit a pulp fiction novel.
I’m the classy dame with brick red locked lips.
You’re the regular guy just doing his job.
I don’t come here often.
I live in my dreams
in between disappointments
because I know where to find
concise French kisses and Pacific deep intent.
Cartoon sirens wail.
Down that dark street we do not stumble.
We’ve memorized each step.