Serenade

Arcade switchblades 
blink and flash and the pinball machine's on full-tilt -
And the white-skinned girls with the painted curls 
lilt into the wall,
As the change machine invokes another rattling jackpot.
Ask not what the evening has in store for you,
But what you have in store for the evening,
Grieving easy at the end of the day gone by.
Bygones are bygones on long-gone Saturday nights
With the light of the night's first cigarette 
to show them the way -
Into the corners of the shadows,
In the shadows on the corners,
Where the mourners moan 
long trombone drones for a stone 
to lay them down to sleep.
And its traffic,
And its music,
And its people-crowd-stammer-jabber-
hustle-bustle-bone-and-muscle -
A chip on every shoulder
And a spring in every step -
And some shoe-shine schlep 
hustlin' nickles for his spit.
And this is it!
The smell of Saturday night!
Burning gasoline,
Lean and mean
A love machine grinding away,
Five days of grinding away
Each day,
One day at a time.
For a dime.
For your precious, precious time.
But now it's time to dance in too-big pants 
and slippery leather wing-tips
With blue Goodwill stickers stapled to your soul.
Fire in the bowl!
And raise it to the too-soft lips of the Beloved.
Daze her dazzling beauty with sweet-smoke easy laughs
And half a heart
To never part
From the comfort of her lazy legs.
And records play in windows two storeys up -
And what's the story in the window over there,
The one with the girl with the Rapunzel-hair?
Yelling at the boys on the bricks -
Slick
With silver crucifix hearts thrust through open shirts.
Watching skirts twirl down the street,
Off to meet lover-boys in a better part of town.
But I'm down!
I'm down with this music that I've found!
I'm down with the cook -
And the crook -
And the book that I found,
Face-down

While I was looking up.