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Tomorrow night it'll be the reek
of Lynx; dickie bows
flung down the stairs
gel-headed, broad-shouldered
tuxedo glamour ducking
under the doorframe
orchid corsages
awkward
in their hands
but tonight it's the twang
of an amped guiter,
rocked back chairs
in a pell-mell room;
a swaying pyramid
of boys on a bed
hot uprising of adolescence
laughing
at nothing at all
copyright 2016
Afric
McGlinchey |
