so... h'americans lost the ambition
to own a pair of legs?

there i see a jogger, jogging on pavement...
20+ years later: arthritis -
or joint pains...
   because... why didn't they jog on grass?
on that soft genital / oyster
pouch of god's good green hearth?

walking to the supermarket,
two black girls sitting at a bus stop...
clearly not waiting for a bus...
given: walking back...

engrossed in what is probably
an album, more slick than anything
the beatles made...

                                what album?
   electric six's fire...
come on... gay bar! gay bar!
  NUCLEAR WAR!
    ON THE DANCE FLOOR!
or... naked pictures: of your mother...
sure, the clash did some
destruction with london calling:
calling out beatlemania...
but this, slick... buttered up
***** of an album?
   the short-and-sweet
pieces that barely hit the 3 minute
mark of what constitutes
a pop song?
  
   so walking back from the supermarket,
armed to the teeth with
a litre of whiskey and drinking
a stella (artois)
          the two black girls are
still sitting at the bus stop,
pretending to be waiting for a bus,
that comes, stops, and leaves,
and they're still sitting...
    like a coconut on a palm tree...

so... engrossed in thinking about
this pristine essence of the album,
they stop me...
           the conversation begins
with:
    did i scare you?
oh no... not even with what's
happening in south africa
that's not receiving coverage...

       - how's your night been?
- not bad...
   - ah... mine's been boring...
- seriously?
   - can't wait for friday night
to have a drink like you're having
right now...
  (****... what day is it?!)
- mm
    - can i have a cigarette?
- sure... you want two?
   - ah... cutie, thank you.
- have a good one then.

       tattoo on her upper right
thigh... legs that screamed!
          screamed!       leather chair!
just plenty of fat that
you could mistake for either,
a leather chair... or a pillow...
  and a face like a baby...

but...
    but...
            the other girl?
     a much darker complexion...
something, pseudo dina asher-smith...
such a petite head with such
enlarged proportions of features -
    a really shy spectacle:
               as beauty always is... shy...
is it... "love"...
   if... god almighty -
     i'm in the mood to melt butter -
just for the per se of: watching butter melt...

obviously what is missing
is me taking them back home and having
a *******...
       no **** sherlock, and i really wouldn't
have liked to?
     guess this "poem" will
have to suffice as the "only", alternative...

         NUCLEAR WAR!
                    ON THE DANCE FLOOR!