The way we livefor Ted Nierras
Bang the drum, baby,
let us roll tremors
of sound to wake
the Lord God of motion
sleeping under the skin.
Of choosing what to wear
this Saturday night:
cool, sexy black
or simply f**k-me red?
Should I gel my hair
or just let it fall like water?
Of sitting on the sad
and beautiful face of James Dean
while listening to reggae
in the Blue Café.
Of chatting with friends
in The Library
while Allan shimmers
with his sequins and wit.
Of listening to stories
in Cine Café:
the first eye contact,
conversations glowing
in the night,
lips and fingers touching,
groping for each other’s loneliness.
Of driving home
under the flyover’s dark wings
(the blackout once again plunges
the city into darkness),
summer’s thunder
lighting up the sky,
o
