Tired of the hallelujah congress
incorporated mathematical white presidents
diet sodas on the big privy screen
Annie shames herself on the hot brass button
rolls out between sandstone griffins
wraps a leash around her last real thought
and lets go down the
hurly burly knobs of San Francisco.
Somewhere north of Market
three feet past the turnstile
Annie meets the straight flush she’s been
expecting ever since
that night in Biloxi
when the tides didn’t come.
She gets home on the transit
seven minutes past midnight
one finger on the rip cord
finds the jack and queen of diamonds
fornicating across the pale shoulder of her
best cotton blouse.
The king was looking the other way
but then, he had no choice.
First published in Zuzu’s Petals QuarterlyFrom the collection Great Showtunes of the American Stage
Photo by MJV