In Threshold Repose

The devil in caricature await the streetlights
in threshold repose
as I do
cicadas clicking crickets chorus
in that brackish mixture
cocktail of air conditioning
and humid southern summer
maybe a cigarette on his black lips
following me in fantasy like a creep
   at the park

she beckons curling that long finger
scorpion bent tipped in painted acrylic red
spreads her knees and pulls me in
my lips mumbling wet stanzas
of her perfect pink poetry

purple evening
maybe a cigarette hanging from his
course black tongue
painted in the night bird's song
the neighbors drag trash to the curb
watch me dance in yellow eyes
yellow light on the street cast
bottles bicker and clank
carcass of warm beer
of youth
each an Atlas holding up his world.

TA