Pure Slush

flash ... without the wank

Strobe Lights and a Few Coins

<  Greyhounds

by Abha Iyengar     New York City Writers' Convention  > 

The city leans into you

She whispers and beckons

There is promise and light in concrete

Opportunity in glass


You came for her from the vast

Nothingness of your village

Air was free but so was your labour.

Here, in the claustrophopic night lit with strobes

Which bounce off you since you do not own them

Your labour is paid, your fingers grope

the few coins in your pocket

Feel their freedom.


Your fingers escape the pocket’s tight hold.

They pluck at your sweaty shirt to create space

Between your skin and polyester

The air offers you its whispers.

It will caress you, lull you to sleep

Till the night you cease to breathe.


The concrete leans into you,

Glass skirts strip you,

You are the dance floor,

Flat against the tarmac.

The stuck shirt, the coins in your pocket

Are yours.

The lights explore your body,

You have never known such lust. 


published 17 May 2012