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P a g e  3

D R E A M   O F   T H E   B A R   G I R L

 E   R   M   I   T  A : 

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I I .   S o n g   o f   t h e   J u k e b o x 

In the darkling twilight, at the doorstep

Of D’Legs Bar along Del Pilar,

The bar’s barker beckons.

 

Phtisic, sunken-eyed, she thrives

On the sidewalk, resplendent

In her green and violet foliage:

 

Yellow sash and red cabbage rose

Blossoming at her waist,

Fuchsia scarf whorled at her hair.

 

Scowling she shoves us in,

Grudging us the smile

She saves for the green

 

Iridescence of the Dollar

Of every white skin, of every

Grinning passing plumed alien.

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At the bar under the lamp

The bald Attorney peers from his

Thick lenses into last night’s income:

All the girls were taken out,

Not bad, not really bad. Without 

Stint for the Lady’s Drinks,

The tourists drank both San Miguel

And ‘hard’. Everybody happy, with still

Some left for water and electricity

And to market for appetizers and viands. 

Attorney runs his fingers down 

The book’s columns, his left hand 

Audits the supple rump of his accountant.

 

We choose a corner where the wallpaper

Clings better, near the jukebox 

Where Elton John and the Alessi Brothers

Lend us their Stateside, androgynous dreams

I’d like to ride my bicycle with you

On the handlebars I’d like to run away

And our memory of daylight drowns

Under the waking flutter of neon

Overhead by the doorway

(One slim leg diagonal across the stem

Of cocktail glass flicker flicker)

So goodbye Yellow Brick Road

Where the dogs of society howl

And where the dust and soot dutifully 

Merge. A round for us, we signal,

And the night begins.

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