Vernon Frazer
Slanging Leather Pursed
chalks the walk,
a barefoot pouch, the cheeky tans
“bitchin’” catwalk vocablesthe talk of the town
manstanding clownshawking
down
neanderthal
gravities glad-handing
hi-five odes to stereo cavities,
analog to digital catwalksTheir hot torpedoes
turn avocado, burning
pork loins tongue their dead vibrato
not with standing
her slitted cabaretSalons to the right of them,
saloons to the left of themtalking shit
taking heatIdiomatic switchboards thunder
lightning dreams of displaced dewSwinging lean
on Mean Street USA
her buns glow south, her
tongue talks a gat’s bad walk
Gunning eyes shoot
blanks as stares, man to man
to men tumescent
her stalking
pterodactyls
bird the word