strut
Wenches, three of them, wide and wicked
Strutting along Bleecker like it was a red carpet
Thick thighs in zebra stripes, caramel skin glowing
Five paces behind, I fell in love
and followed.
I think I tiptoed
I know they swaggered
Spat words so raw and raucous
Stretched by the Brooklyn accent, warmed by the love between them
Even as they tore into each other with language that held me bound
You callin’ me white?
Hand on hip, head cocked
Girlfriend, look at your man
Her eyes narrow, my eyes widen
He’s the whitest motherfucka I ever met
…..that boy’s a pussy
Laughter so dirty I stumbled, blushed
Never felt so unripe.
The solace of the fire escape
Hands black with grime and ears ringing with sirens
Watching over CBGBs with longing
The Bowery invited and I finally accepted
I tried my “don’t mess with me” gait
I couldn’t pull it off
They messed with me
Street preachers spewing forth fire and brimstone
On the corner of Joey Ramone Place
Hostility for lone little white girls with pagan tattoos
Trying to strut
A finger pointed rudely towards me
Yo baby!
My chin stuck bravely towards him
Yeah, what?
More brass than I felt, more bile than I wanted
Taste of metal in my mouth as his finger inched closer
Resting on my snake, bold and curved
Looped around my neck, nestled on my collarbone
Keeping me safe
A flash of gold teeth, a grin, a grunt
Nice bling
And off, shuffling back to the steps
And me, scurrying back to the fire escape
To watch from a distance.
Few days later, few streets over
Lower East Side longing
For a man so clichéd I groaned
Even as I craved.
Arms laden with pipes, muscles pulling tight
Sweat sliding down the curve of his calf
Into his workboots
Straight out of the Village People
Hardhat included
I could’ve watched for hours
Sorry honey!
You should just holler – get the hell outta my way!
Stepping past with a sway
Hips rolling, heels clicking
Words thrown over my shoulder
I can’t…..I’m too Australian
Laughter thrown back, loud and lascivious
Trailing me along the streets of New York
No sugar…..you’re too much!
Felt myself ripen
© bellmusker 2007
Comments
what a stroll … i enjoyed being in your mind for it…. could you retrace your seps and get that man with the pipe’s phone # for me…. he sounds hot…………………….b
wow, this is an unbelievable word journey. I LOVE the pacing, and the dialogue thrown in, even with the crisp description and the character’s thoughts. I only have one critique, and that is the last two times you use the word strut – it gets a little redundant. So maybe you should take one out, and put another word it. I don’t know. it’s the only thing that sort of stood out – because otherwise I was spell bound. Wonderfu, wonderful talent!
Thanks Finchley – I hadn’t realised how many times I’d used the word until you mentioned it. Sometimes we need to look at a piece through fresh eyes! I just tweaked it somewhat and you’re right, I do prefer it this way. Thanks for your comments, and your compliments…..damn, I still remember those women clearly, and it’s always with a grin. They were just so vibrant, so sassy. I do love my wenches!
– bellmusker
Superb, just superb, what a picture you paint and weave.
Love this! Great narrative!
been there done that < New York, Oakland, SF, You took me back to the times.
oh how you deliciously divulge the native new yorkers, who will always stop to chat and somehow effortlessly inspire.
Inspire they surely do….on my last visit to NY I eavesdropped shamelessly and almost filled a notebook…..always watch out for the linguist in the corner ;-) Thanks for the comment; much appreciated!
– bellmusker