My pals all suppose their residences
was brothels. I don’t suppose
any of them ever have been, nevertheless it’s a becoming mythology
for an eerie, rundown place with the unique mahoganies,
hex tiles, and claw-foots. Intercourse is a spot for ghosts. Intercourse, cities,
specialty markets with vacant glass fish counters, gilded
wine bars shut with the dissipation of frivolity
that necessitates a gilded wine bar.
It’s the Fourth of July. Town is empty.
Stoplights change. Shifting
powerbox gears echo the metallic rattle of cart
on concrete. Pals have modified residences,
companions, furnishings. The Fort Rose,
the Cambrian, the Premier, the Gentry.
Tangerine pleather pullout,
mid-century tweed, black leather-based chesterfield.
On the best way to a celebration, I cease exterior the Fort Rose.
It’s pale pink, mint, and soft-edged like a cake.
The neon signal is off, and there’s a tall black gate now
with a key-card sensor. The roses
are nonetheless there. I’m glad to see the roses
are nonetheless there. Somebody has added petunias
to Addily’s outdated balcony.
I’d heard a rumor that Hollywood Classic
had closed down and am relieved
to search out it cluttered, peeling, dilapidated, simply how
I remembered, closed for the Fourth however not
eternally. Staring by way of the window on the furs,
chipped coupes, velvet-backed work,
I hear my title, and it’s Chris,
late to the celebration, carrying
an unmanageable quantity of beer.
After I cherished him, I may by no means have dreamed
for a greater second for him to run into me. It’s sizzling right now,
however so am I. I imply sweat, after all, sweat. However right now,
I look rattling good. Little black gown. Freshly dyed roots. Sweat,
sure, however in a sex-oil method, and I’m carrying fragrance. I odor
like sweat and roses. I’m staring right into a constructing
that’s concurrently excellent and dilapidated.
At this second, I, too, am excellent and dilapidated. Now
actuality, actuality.
I say, can I enable you to carry that beer? He says no. I say,
that’s insane you’re carrying a lot beer. He says no,
I say sure. He fingers me two six-packs. He says, thanks
for coming. I say, thanks for having me. We make our method
to his new girlfriend’s rooftop the place the celebration
is being held. I depart early. Carl goes to satisfy me
on the fringe of the Willamette, and
we’re going to stroll over it because the fireworks begin.
It’s onerous to have reminiscences within the current. It is a poem
about what’s completed. It is a poem about Addily
and her couches. That is about Addily photographed
in a grocery retailer in a faux-leopard jacket
subsequent to a pyramid of tangerines. It is a poem
about Carl ready on the east finish of the river.
It is a poem about exes. It is a poem
in regards to the future.