Avocado Sandwich

I love it when people strut
Around inside buildings with unlit cigarettes
Delicately balanced between their frail fingers
As if -
At any moment -
The pale tip could slowly
Crumble into embers and alight
Like the slow, flickering ascent of electricity
Up the Christmas tree.

He�s so f*****g cool.
You can tell by the way he walks
With his saddlebag slung low
And his belt slung low over his low-slung hips.
His whole frame drooping
Like the acquiescent stem
Of a daisy on a day when the sun
Boils over onto the asphalt.

Some friends call to him from their table
But he must depart. Waves at them
Like a prince to his servants.
Off in a gust of men�s perfume and conceit
So strong it could make you choke.

I knock back a swig of raspberry soda.
He�s got things in that saddlebag you couldn�t even
Dream of.

Reviews

[Gastroc.]

i absolutely love this poem. love the title. love the ending. well done-- new favorite for me!

[Beth]

excellent descriptive work here. I loved it! I could see the man slouching out of the room, idol of his friends... the one in the back who knows him well. :)