you realize you shoulda towed this ford turkey
rather than endanger your life again
during rush hour police chases
& crazy vehicles cutting you off
so they can escape good or bad guys
while your preggo girlfriend riding shotgun
is vomiting thru tears and screams
befouling the cheap, beer-sodden dash
still bearing the dark imprint of foreheads
nearby the glove compartment's stash
& concealed weapon minus a permit
while you skid along the interstate
pushed over to the concrete ramp barrier
by the rear pile-up of crashing cars
chased by the howling police crown vics
pealing black & white rubber-squeals
until -- luckily? -- your ford peters out
passed by two hot rods hurtling by
hell-bent for a live-news shootout
after the first shot you realize
you're OK, trying to stabilize honey
& calm an hysterical, water-bursting girl
while ebony smoke oozes from your hood
& your tires pop from stray gunfire
you do wake up, still in the hospital bed
next to a patient-bimbo snoring near you,
realizing you've been dreaming erratically
the entire bad plot-sequence of the flick
your girlfriend rented before the accident
& vow ONCE AND FOR ALL to donate all
your cars & bikes to the demolition derby
or
police
charity
drive
in the nocturne of first thoughts gripping you
beyond the wry posture of cowed customer
I warned you not to buy the damn thing, didn't I?
then hooking wires around you at Best Buy
(with the tenderness of clinging snakes)
applied by some clerk's techno-fingertips
synchronizing our last love's heartbeat.
-- I, the Miss America of your desires,
You, the Sir Nerd of continents North America,
somehow desperately wanting to join us
into a digital union of love & sexual bliss,
where our differences will end bleeping
& release you from your old Morality crown
reflecting new-born electronic innocence
we'd cease all lily-white pulchritudes sin
implanted us with since the Garden of Eden --
then, will a flight of blue crows fly by
unseen ghosts in the god-like machine,
taking us at last to the other dark places
to nakedly nestle in plasma TVs
larger than the Mars nebulae
-- our final commercial
black-out?
but remember how funny we were
in junior high, before blue humours
disgraced adolescent skins?
after class our private auditions
of fumbling sex overtures revealed
how ignorant kids are despite
porn-playing cards to turn us on:
who'll book the mother of all comics
for a night lapping sweat from pasties
or hours spent playacting at cheri's house
(with her folks gone) wearing her mom's
grim, strap-on, orthopedic device?
just sad residue of puppy loves
in a normal middle class human zoo,
we weren't ready for prime-time
sexual maturity in the b & w TV movies
tickling our repressed teen libidos --
& our uncensored pasts still reek
of something lost beyond orgasm,
before the parental network censors
cancelled us from the Fall season's
graduation into heated hi-schools'
blue-jeaned lust,
an eternal
close-up
longing
for
reruns
Peter says, "In all honesty I'm still wondering who the heck 'Peter Magliocco' is & what he did." His latest chapbook is available from Vergin' Press.