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"Plaything"
I regain consciousness. God lights my cigarette.
We're in Havana. It's a night club. We're
waiting for the Devil. We're having it out.
It's rather glamorous, in many ways all I've
dreamt about. I'm tanned to black. I'm wearing
a gold wristwatch expensive as a house in the country.
I'm missing no one, likening myself
to anyone/thing that pops in my head.
I have another fruity drink, I eat the paper umbrella.
The waitress, with drop-dead sex appeal, looks me straight in
the eyes. The Devil sets her on fire, there's an ash outline
where she stood. The Devil sticks his tongue in my mouth.
God gets in a huff. I'm erect. Don't you see why
I've never been interested in you? This is my drama,
my love interests hot at either ear. Look how slowly I take
the pills. I name them. All my life I've been rehearsing this scene:
gold filigree pops up around me, Doric leaves, froufrou,
orchid patience, a la-de-da chorus of angels,
weight thrown on one hip, fake-fur settee, marigold
squished in exalted rush --
Your valentine arrived today.
It went up in flames in my hand.
With bandaged fingers I dial your number,
click click go the heels of Death.
I'm dancing again slow grinding --
tambourines I hear them still
above the lid and piled dirt.
-- Harry Kondoleon
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