LIFE IN THE CITY

The last eligible Big Shot

quaffs his drink

and strolls from the piano bar

into the incandescent night.

Large folks

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,

driving away

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

plumbers helper,

while the man in the moon

looks down...

and smiles.