chrome nostalgic dust

leap onto spokes
prophecies with pocket watches
they play with the
garish the pulp origins where crap
shoots are bounced
off of galvanized refuse cans in alley
skies spit rain to calm the dust,
worn like beggar’s  
smog hang glides over city fields
of concrete and rebar
as whitewalls cruise through muddied
drink the taste into synthetic treads
wear bars parched
sunglasses slapped across a face,
rear view adjusted
with a slick move
engine oil pumping through mechanical
circulated like a knickerbocker boy pedaling
black and white
reflected in
chrome hubcaps,
he rides on the running boards to toss
into slum tenement apartment doorways;
loan sharks with a sweet lump in their
swallow someone else’s credit,
gentleman loser in a card game sipping
the rim of a whiskey
inebriated on the fumes of dime
cigars and 
stale air
in a one
way saloon,
flickering neon sign keying the wax
sedan job;
spotlights on skyscrapers 
navigation beacons
to illegals,
prostitute themselves through streets,
through sidewalks
carry a map, tossed into a current of
under the table cash,
sea of green,
no sigils
no life jackets;
wall to wall corporate types with a hand
on a corporation
busy scratching anxieties like 
mosquito bites,
drink down the mercurochrome, empty
bottles tossed
into trash for drunks to get drunk,
wreathes taken off of mannequins in dumpsters
for them,
gas pedal pushed down by a resoled shoe,
exhaust circles
’round a photograph of nostalgia,
of every day life…
Copyright © 09/10/2013 Ð Ṝ Ƣ Ñeedle & Ŧhread®

4 comments on “chrome nostalgic dust

  1. This writing took me back years ago & the images sparked memories and a desire to capture it all on a canvas to share with the world. Excellent poetry with strong images & in a voice of reality!

  2. Caught at me from the line: “dirt/ grime…like prophecies with pocket watches” (which is my favorite phrase in the poem).

    What a startling and disturbing concept…dirt and grime, watches ticking, looking on and waiting for their predictions to unfold…
    …or perhaps, for their fate to become ours?

    That entropic thought fits with the the street-dust-rimed, sooty-brick dimness that shades the rest of the imagery. Real, yes; but grey and dim–the sunglasses, the “slick move” to adjust the rearview, are jaunty but futile gestures of defiance. The “mechanical veins” drive a car already becoming soiled by its environment…whitewalls drinking in the “muddied puddles”, the flickering neon “keying” the wax job…

    Vivid and precise, but entropic; somewhat grim reading, at least for me.

    Favorite phrases:
    – ‘prophecies with pocket watches’
    – ‘dust, worn like beggar’s clothing’
    – ‘smog hang glides over city fields’
    – ‘dime cigars and stale air in a one way saloon’
    – ‘neon sign keying the wax sedan job’
    – ‘a current of under the table cash,
    sea of green…
    no life jackets’
    – ‘scratching anxieties like mosquito bites’

  3. Madeleine,

    You have a unique thoroughness in your reviews that pushes me outside four walls; they’re taught, precise, crisp to enthrall… i love how you carefully select specific phrases as your favorites; your viewpoint challenges, which i really like,
    a gauntlet for a new penning.

    L/Ð Ṝ Ƣ

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