Deluge by Peter V Dugan

Photo by : Adam Porter


Doing pirouettes on the edge of the abyss, reciting

poems of buckshot spewed words, shedding bitter

tears while sipping a coke and smoking a cigarette

across from a disheveled yahoo saloon. Still torn

between hopscotch and jump rope as adolescents

race to shed their virginity. College boys in country

club dress, take a walk to the other side, enticing

and seductive, beautiful and dangerous.

A black motorcycle with an extended front end calls out,

the freedom of the road, the freedom to be wild to

carry them away. But, tonight they settle huddled

around the boob tube in the living room, an encounter

with an exotic creature of unknown origin after

drinking the leftover orange juice. Acceleration,

ecstasy, ominous and foreboding, a contrast of black

and white suspended above the ground. And then

coming down to pounce on the pavement and howl

into the night. Ride a cloud as thunder rolls in your

wake, engine running, racing to nowhere, condemned

to dangle between heaven and earth, and glide across

a wildflower meadow to prospect the rug for wayward rocks.

Gazing upon infinite reflections within the eye

on the I, while the girls sit crying with your family,

always pushing the limit and going to the extreme.

Broken shells, scattered on weathered rocks

as stars shimmer on the ripples of Mill River. Take in the

sights, the sounds, the smells, the tastes and the feel

of the experience salvaged from a junk pile, and other

loose parts packed in a cardboard box. Disappeared,

never to be seen or heard from again, with the funk

of cigarette smoke mixed with the stench of stale beer,

creased with the lines of many miles and many years.

An example of youth exploiting youth, it’s all the rage,

a brief interlude like the passing of a summer storm

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