Thomas DeFreitas writes vivid poems:
America, As Promised
Team-building exercises, twister and cribbage,
touch football near the shady picnic tables,
hangman in the breakroom, coffee-gossip,
Biff and Marty playing Trivial Pursuit.
Individual couples therapy, your midlife crisis
solved for the fee of ninety bucks an hour:
roving eye, boudoir stare, those cocktails of
opportunity, wedding band in jacket pocket.
Pilates and Yoga and Zen dentristry
(what is the sound of one tooth decaying?),
lesbian ergonomics! fundamentalist feng shui!
O proselytizing peepshow pleaser, brace me
after the fourth Glenlivet; O gender-neutral
apostle of fairness, incentivize me to groupify!
The Red Line
I should have written it down, the one about
the fetishist in the subway, with a metric converter
and several hectograms of lechery in his lunchbox.
It's gonna be a tough commute, said the T cop
who pronounced "Ashmont" to rhyme with "parchment."
Stand behind the yellow line. If you see any lubricious
activity, alert an MBTA official. We are experiencing
moderate delays in service. The next train to Alewife
is now arriving. Brogues, clogs, flip-flops, wedges,
heels, flats, sandals, sneakers on the escalator.
A drunk on the platform, counting the riders' toes,
lapses into metatarsal reverie, fueled by cheap gin.
For plaintive yearnings or exultations, call
(617) 222-3200. Tomorrow the T will operate
on a Saturday schedule. Don't forget your personal
longings. Thank you for riding the MBTA.
Sweet airheads of Enlightenment, forsooth,
bandy progressive nostrums, put bright stickers
on their hybrid's bumper, "End This Endless War!"
and "Re-elect Dronestrike in 2012!"
Insufferable twerps of Tolerance politely
abort veracity in the fourth trimester,
execute beauty over a mocha frappuccino,
terminate freedom for everyone except...