Listen :: Screeching Weasel :: Dummy Up
Dummy Up
I hide
behind the door –
through the semi-circle
of varsity jackets I see
a body curled
on the floor
hands cover his head
his Rancid T-shirt pocked
with sneaker and boot prints.
Books with broken spines
scattered through the hallway.
Punk, one spits on his face.
Freak.
They alternate Straight edge faggot.
Blows.
Pussy.
I open the door,
their attention shifts –
they walk to me
Watch out bitch. His hot breath gives
Say a word and you’re next. me goose bumps. I stare
past their crew cuts
at the line of blood
beginning to leak
down the hall.
Listen :: The Misfits :: Last Caress
Last Caress
A soggy couch flipped
on its arm
the only boost
to a broken window
hidden around back
of the hotel.
Finger tips scrape
the ledge
arms shake as I pull myself up.
The rot of stagnant urine suffocates
before I’m through the window.
From the mezzanine I look
down on the lobby
stripped – the gold leafing
pilfered, oak banisters hang
pieces splintered
on the cracked marble floor
caked with dirt, charred garbage,
black soot, ornate pillars decaying
from water damage.
I remember Café Metropolis, the stage,
the couches, the chessboard tables,
the magazine racks overflowing with zines,
the clouds painted on the ceiling…
Glass crunches
soggy cardboard squishes
as I climb the stairs.
The dirt ground into the grout,
the hallway lined with kids,
a table covered in stickers …
The door to the roof
rusted off its hinges,
the bottom impaled
into the concrete.
Sweaty kids moshing
with black eyes…
I stand at the corner
of the roof staring down
at Market and River streets
the sign, HOTEL STERLING,
towers behind me,
stoic against the neglect.
The fourteen year old girl
in Jnco jeans and blue streaks in her hair…
I lean against
the bottom of the G
as the wind screams through the gaps
of the huge metal letters…
…our lives
embedded into those floors
and soaked into those walls.
back roads & city streets 