My Piano

November 20, 2009
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His 60’s shoes
With the steel toes
Stepping back. And forth. His hips
Pushing through his high wasted tan slacks.
Aviators yellow-
From the reflecting light
The sun is this party
The night sun.
His young skin absorbing the sun
The thud on the pavement of his worn black converse.
A trail of smoke forming a frame around his hard silhouette
His mouth parted slightly
Threatening the cigarette
Dangling from his purple lips

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