The last eligible Big Shot
quaffs his drink
and strolls from the piano bar
into the incandescent night.
who are livin' large
linger at the all-you-can-eat buffet.
A brash lightweight boxer
jitterbugs with his girlfriend
who resembles Olive Oyl
and feels he is in a Popeye cartoon.
The last of the early evening joggers puffs by,
making sedentary bystanders feel like slackers.
She takes a break at the park
where young boys are laughing
and urinating in front of her.
She has lingering questions
about the human gene pool.
Not far away, burning the midnight oil in his office,
the devoted clerk dutifully cooks the books for the boss.
In a modest house in a middle-class neighborhood,
mom cooks macaroni and cheese again tonight,
cutting corners, though the family's income
is close to the median figure for the area.
Next house over,
upstairs in her bed,
Janie dreams of her teenage lover
and draws pentagrams in her school notebook,
ignoring the history assignment for tomorrow.
The big shot, ensconced in his cozy pad,
calls his almost-ready-to-leave-him girlfriend
and makes an offer she cant refuse.
Tickets to an off-Broadway show
and a spacious hotel suite.
Though his hopes of buying her love for a lifetime are illusory,
he is thick-skinned, and will play his hand.
Outside a convenience store
two clerks on break trade jokes.
Cigarette smoke hangs in the air
like an unanswered question.
They speculate about global warming and toxic sludge.
A customer approaches, intent on drawing himself a Slurpee.
Movie goers spill from the lobbies,
the soles of their shoes gummy with unknown substances,
the boxer and his beanpole among them.
Embellishing his record, he regales her
with tales of pugilistic prowess.
In a huge tent at the edge of town,
a "Man of God" spits stormy, incendiary words,
dogmatizing the meaning of life--
working his congregation into a frenzy
custom designed for those who would consign their minds.
Then, the laying on of hands,
with special attention awarded to teenage girls.
A gentle breeze passes
and the night settles
into a respectful silence.
Alone in her apartment,
the jogger snacks on a rice cake.
Her biological clock is ticking,
and she feels
that she is running
out of time.
The large folks who are livin' large
have torn themselves away
from the all-you-can-eat buffet,
in their Hummers and SUVs--
muttering about the price of gas.
The city encroaches daily
on all that grandpa held dear.
And somewhere in a ravine,
the last wolverine
dismembers the unsuspecting
while the man in the moon