we walk through Kew Gardens to Jamaica Ave,
the blunt in hand softens the silence between
pulls—heady and slow, fingers cold, smiling
through the quiet streets, round the corner,
beneath the J/Z train we pass
under the moon, like shadows

the Soca beat chips down the sidewalk
outside the club, where a small crowd glitters
in Saturday night glam. Our eyes are rubies
in the flashing darkness, we waft in and over to the bar
to wet the throat, to drink in the music,
after all the hellos, handshakes and general inquisition

Grey Goose, friends and bottles drift around us,
we flow to the dance floor, like rivers into the sea
submerge ourselves in the swaying crowd
we wind and curve ourselves like waves, breaking
between songs and chat and laughter,
friends eagle-eyeing, teasing all the while

by 4am we are walking out,
the drinks we had keep us warm
in the cool October air. Boys are boys,
they ruffle their liquory feathers outside,
we stroll to the only open bodega, another Dutch
to puff and puff and give the night away

10/24/2009

Posted on 10/24/2009
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