-a dream's passage-

As I stepped away

from the mocha-metallic

Porsche 911 Turbo

arriving at a black-

tie function 

celebrating 

the accomplishments

of a Nobel prized

bio-geneticist

accompanied by her younger sister

an instant lottery- 

ticket winner

in turn, accompanied by her girlfriend

a somber-looking 

teenager clothed in a frayed 

high school cheerleading jacket

with “Sherri” sewn into the sleeve

whose dark eyes could slice 
lesser flesh with a glance

like the barbs strung at Bergen-Belsen,    

and who, 
the day before, stood convicted 

of multiple thrill-seeking, rural

Gas Station robberies
while hot-rodding through Kansas

near-senselessly murdering

the jerky attendants

as her boyfriend, (not in attendance
at the formal ceremonies)

a real whack-off with pimples

who once told me

that he enjoyed the scent of his grandmother
smirked in the background,—

and my bow-tie tightened its grip

into the apple-like lump of my neck

as if the love-whipped Adam 
wanted it for his own dry throat 

but across the street, the Burger King's
neon brightened and the faded-blue

1998 Volkswagen Jetta, well, it sits impatiently
in the parking lot with its missing grille

and a rust-hole just below

the trunk the size of a closed fist
anticipating my return
like a frantic, tail-wagging schnauzer at the door

reminding me that the Sun is up and everything

was the way it was the day before the night of the dream.

city