August 27, 2005
In the Disco; an excerpt from the upcoming story, "Last Days in Juarez'
she was washing up below the dj booth
wet hair and curved shadows
the place was loaded
and the lights were occasional
her shoes lay in a mop bucket
dejected and alone
her fingers chased away the lines
from her face
behind her were the other girls
coining worthless banter
and smoking tea
she took no interest in them
the music dripped down from the speakers like syrup
as she pulled her tank top up over her hips
somewhere near the back
ice toppled a glass and kicked at cheap bourbon
and I sat watching her dress behind that shutter
her shift was over
no glory had been gained
no memories had been lost
the magnetism of my eye
caught on her hook
brought her to me
taking the seat that I offered
and the cigarette I didnt smoke
she told me she liked wearing
fishnet stockings
like a mannequin or betty davis
and why do other girls draw their eyes out to look like raccoons
I told her I didnt know
but that I liked those stockings too
we took it all out
into the downpour
raced a couple blocks
with newspaper umbrellas
up to her room
and our soaked clothing
became a precursor
to the ritual
we lie there listening to the rain
on her broken bed
panting like the hunted
under a dim bulb
and an august moon
in the morning I found myself
covered with the sun
and weak in the liver
she slept through that shower of light
and the minor noise
I accrued, putting on my jeans
she looked broken and beautiful
drawn into a fist against the world
honest and imperfect
among those tired sheets
as only a woman can
I left a ten on her nightstand
and stepped outside
into the barrage of heat
ready to face the day
Posted by Drexler at 09:50 AM