Hanging on the Telephone

by Andy Riverbed

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Biography:

Andy Riverbed is a sleepwalker as he also mediates for D*Holidey; the forever misunderstood Reggaeton artist can be see in soap opera dramatic sense situations in our everyday life. Learn to live the good life!; join the Andy Riverbed mailing list at andy.riverbed@yahoo.com or suffice yourself with his body at www.myspace.com/ylarivera

 

His hand is in his pocket: the world—can’t even enjoy it!—hanging on that telephone. Dark corners; tight alleyways. Stinking mildew atmosphere; rotted trash orbiting air. Humid breeze spitting memories; close desires. The club: slow walk—can’t miss that call—can’t even enjoy it; hanging on that telephone! The show: somersault ballerinas (too much pink lipstick [speed legs; plastic rubber odor] spectacular!) The crowd goes wild—his mind goes wild: endless possibilities. Over. Angry mob is anxious to leave. Always a rush—there! Now! Pushed through the door.

Negro man comes down stairs. Underwear; strong black man. Girl on knees crawling away; cherry panties. Wet; clear open pupil eyes.

“Don’t look man. He’ll kill you.”

Sampson: old school buddy from hard times. Dreads and upgraded t-shirt—passes club entrance policy.
“Shows gonna start.”

Back in: world on rush. Def Squad Pantomime Jam. Black man—white face-paint. Lipstick, (too large, too black) cotton picking, crowd’s jamming—turquoise bleak stage. Cotton picking. Dressed in rags and whip-lash. Sampson bawling.

“This the new shit man! Everyone’s wildin’ out! The new shit!”

Def Squad Pantomime Jam, (cotton picking whip-lash spectacle [spectacular]—can’t even enjoy it—hanging on that telephone.)

“Let’s skip. Get a fix.”

The cue.

“Dope shit. Cheap too. Ripped som’ gringos.”

Dark corners; tight alleyways. Vendors’ committee; open street. Flesh walls; bag handlers. Open market. Black flesh; flesh market.

“Whatcha want papi?”

“Droga pa’.”

“¡Perico!”

“Fucking junkies. Take your shit.”

Pleasant smiles; aggravated stares. All needs fulfilled.

Dark corners; tight alleyways. Bloated wood entrance. Queen; stick thin on broken peddle chair throne. Loyal subjects; on the nod. Smoking the Devil. On preparation. Her kingdom; stunk up mold couch. Gray must mirror; blood stained counter. Decomposed flesh aura; the queen has it all. One-toothed greetings; open sores. Mutated cooties; Chewties. Live off ‘em. Entrance fee; one dollar. Gancho; one dollar. Water; free. Cap; free. Shoelace; free. Clorox; free. Baking soda and ammonia; free. Cook up the Devil. Forget the past; future is now. This can be enjoyed; no more hanging on that telephone.