Noble Gases and Bayonets

April 16, 2011 § Leave a comment

Noble Gases and Bayonets
By Joe McCarthy

Dan Nye was with us when the
Bay Parkway was
Congested.
We blew our noses because
The radio was a static hysteria.
Smells like teen spirit sounded like
Bayonets piercing our guts,
So we drove back to
Massapequa entertaining the speakers
With our voices.
No, we probably bored them with memories
Of NPR.
I prefer the noble gases.
Prefiero los gases nobles.

We copped some Heebs at a 711
Where the lucid storefront of
Eternity was all neon lights, glass and
Glinting green graffiti.
Laborious snoring could be heard from products behind
Windows that were merely
Mirrors reflecting the
Yearnings of a culture.

We followed lethargic yellow
Lines of paint and conspiring
Road signs back to our Aunt’s house.
Here we would
Speculate on the Hopi Indian
Understanding of time,
In a yard where frayed fences apologized
For their constricting nature. They told us that
Nature was never meant to be
Divided up and
Paper recycling plants are an
Extension of death.

Budweiser sparked thought like the
French Revolution.
Radical ideas reigned supreme,
And fixed philosophies were
Guillotined.
We sat in lawn chairs that
Pinched our hips.
The exotic smell of fresh pineapple
Flirted with our nostrils and the
Crisp, salty wind from the sound
Cooled our bare feet as we cast
Scattered glances at a meteor
Shower that seemed to be
Stuck in traffic somewhere along
The Milky Way.

My brother clutched at his
Rosary beads as Dan, in his
Black, skin-tight, barely-below
The knee jeans, said Christianity
Inhibits freedom.

I sipped on a beer that tasted of tropical fruit,
And reached my hand up to direct traffic
For meteors that were too impatient to follow
The constellation’s construction signs.

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