Acid House

The girl from the Far East sits with
The man from the Far West across the
Bar serving redwood liquid in cut glass dinnerware.
She breathes in the array of aroma
Penetrating the joint belligerent with
The smoke of the defeated as they file through
One at a time for their ration of Scotch.

He relaxes in the plush leather kept innocuously by the
Table the bimbo seats herself on,
Catching rude glances at his suede jacket and impeccable table manners.
He sways his head to the rhythm
That The Who lays down through the Onkyo speakers
And sways his mind to the rhythm of her legs between his, hidden under the table.
He thinks of calling but the transmission device he owns
Seems to have developed an intelligence of its own
As it refuses to be found.
Or so he tends to believe.
She's asleep by now.

There sits the expat with his H1B visa
Busy filling his face with the charms the New World has to offer by way of
Pork chops in gravy and the obvious Jack Daniels and water.
Soothed by the sight of another lost soul across the mahogany table
Feeling enclosed in their conjugal loneliness.
"Never taste the meat that they serve you there,
It's as sour as it is sexual"
Were the words his albeit spiritual matriarch had infused in him,
The latter of the above 2 quotes implied and not spoken.
Independence finds flight in ignorance. Just tonight.

Looks like she's from the Tinseltown of the poor,
Accompanied by the Olive baboon past his prime
In shirts strictly made for Hawaii or Bermuda.
They seem lost in time, space and the 4th dimension
As they regale in the purple resplendence
Of the certain calming hysteria
Caused by excess suffusion of cocaine. White.
Far from pristine. Far from joyous.
Rapture encloses them this dusk as they lose the shackles that their 23 year
Age difference brings to the fore.

I sit with friends across the scene that tells me a million stories in black and gray.
We drink our liquor, strain our necks to speak , lose our sight as we light our
Cigarettes in surroundings as dark
As the porthole of a ship on a cloudless moonless night.
We came for our fix this night.
Found way more than we bargained for.
Realized little.
Accepted nothing.

The sun rises, Orange hues in an azure sea.