Roaring engines blow sand from the shoulder of a broken mirror,
They scream into the night.
Candy coats capture passing glances,
The shine dances with a golden streetlight,
Casting gilded dust over newly discovered worlds,
Toledo and Boston, Chicago and Brooklyn, rusted and scarred,
Ripened by scuff, tar and drear.
A runaway breeze sweeps into the fringe of a long, silken dress.
Sleek legs peek from chic slits,
Cut beside thighs,
A lustful disguise,
Slicked hairstyles and satin sheets,
Cover bones she’ll use to pick her teeth…a feast, an invite, a bare breast.
An olive drifts in gin paradise, confiding in the concierge, Martini;
After hours, before Sunrise, champagne streams and red lipstick napkins,
Perfume mists spray from sharp tongues. Slurs. Wits. Office parties in Miami.
Rails lay on the desk, hundreds of tunnels forged by white collar sins.
Secretaries discreetly board the train, their cabins open to strangers,
Exposed skin, raised eyebrows, lips filled with passion,
Pressing against luscious hips, open to divorce.
Office parties in London.
Piano keys daintily prance and crescendo into high ceilings of The Queensbury hall,
Stories glissade across flawless wood finish,
Enriching the charm of a clever bar keep.
Coals spit onto marble hearth, lighting hot air balloons in the Spring
Victorian whispers warm the New England Winter,
Fresh air, damp sidewalks, blankets of fog held between pillars,
And a welcome, genuine in cost,
Witnessed by slaves,
Behind the cold reminder of a window pane,
Atop the uneven foundations of brick,
And ancestors slain.
Moss spreads over stone, and layers the graves,
Of revolutionary fathers, and other men lost,
All of them human, and all of them killers.
The fate of the world, changed by a printer,
Or an apprentice, common men at birth,
The weight of a dream, a drive, a desire…a lesson to keep.
The forefathers’ lure will fade and diminish,
Mothers beware, your sons will answer the call.
A return to freedom.