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Tom Carney

of

Arlington, TX, US

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by

Tom Carney

In youth, emotions run wild across
the untamed eyes
those girls;
never understood-at the check out line;
grasping folded note and Napoleon under arm;
Too much heartache for a few hours of comfort.
Let's go to the bar
Carlos.
We'll drink our fill nodding to sad lullabies;
And sit on the sidewalk rubbing our bellies;
Watching couples stroll by.
Dreaming of
Frida Kohlo;
Painting the world surreal we sit;
Until the city washes away the faces
of the people on the street island.
Let's go back to the Flying Saucer and have
another round
my friend.
It is late, but there's no place I have to be.


texas 1974

by

Tom Carney

Motels and drive-through banks stretch
along the unbending road-boiling hot,
bleeding hot tar road. Bright-bright fast
food restaurants. Belt buckles-as-big-
as-your-fist, brand new hats-black hair
mustached people-dark and lovely. Not a
cactus in sight-but plenty of parking
air conditioning inside. The city sleeps
the afternoon away. My uncle hands me
a pickle-hot like fire-he laughs from
the storage room of his furniture store.
Big blue backdrop-dwarfs the buildings
-old men walking slow-pass the store
window-bent and cowering from tyrant
sun. Jacked-up-Camarros burn rubber on
the street-greasy long hair boys and
suntanned girls with southern accents
-sit obediently at their side. Tiajuana
music challenges
the blaring rock
station -at the stop
light.


ballerina in yellow

by

Tom Carney

Butterfly, butterfly, dance
dances on the ground,
beneath the shrubbery;
So beautiful your broken pirouettes.

How appreciative your audience;
hiding behind
the leaves and stems;
For your final encore.

Fold your golden aura;
and mesmerize
your enemies;
with silken splendor;
upon a grand stage.