Issue |
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January |
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a poem by Korliss Sewer (1 of 2)
A Brutha's Rhapsody
A lime green Olds '77 sits
in the empty parking lot
of the Black and Tan.
Its gold-fleck paint
catches the last rays of
rose-colored sunshine.
Migraine-inducing bass
rattles rusty bolts,
falling into a moldy ocean
of pirated CDs
and black market gear.
He leans back on heated leather,
and takes a long, slow drag
of his medicinal,
savoring cannabis
through clenched teeth,
Zig-Zags flow from
open suicide doors
to join yesterday's headlines
on barren streets.
He nods his head
in time to his favorite jam
under the flashing "open" sign
as suffocating clouds
move eastward.
in the empty parking lot
of the Black and Tan.
Its gold-fleck paint
catches the last rays of
rose-colored sunshine.
rattles rusty bolts,
falling into a moldy ocean
of pirated CDs
and black market gear.
He leans back on heated leather,
and takes a long, slow drag
of his medicinal,
savoring cannabis
through clenched teeth,
Zig-Zags flow from
open suicide doors
to join yesterday's headlines
on barren streets.
in time to his favorite jam
under the flashing "open" sign
as suffocating clouds
move eastward.