14TH STREET (WASHINGTON D.C.) SONATA
David E. Cowen
It is in the dark corners
where the fellatio strangers hide,
amidst scattered syringes
flattened on the black asphalt alley
like a trampled garden,
expelling their brief transaction;
as motorcades of polished cars
crawl down the littered avenue
stopping for the dyed blondes
in pink spandex dresses which
reveal their bare buttocks
as they stretch into the smoky lowered windows
to commence negotiations.
Glowing in the horizon,
the Washington phallus stretches
in the yellow light,
caressed by the warm breath
of idling engines stalled at the bridge.
