Empty Summer Twilight by Patrick Bocarde

Shaded blondes, torn jean shorts

and loose t-shirt wait on dirtbikes

for me to pass the bike path

crossing Linden Street, Massapequa Park.

Frilled leafy trees snap

at my car windows like a mad Expressionist painter.

A squirrel starts across the streets,

pausing before darting off asphalt.
Telephone lines—black whipcords—slash

the sky into acres

as full of grazing buffalo

as any American plain.

A bird feeder, clear

cylinder offering only air,

sways to a stop
inside an evergreen.

A bluejay squawks for his free lunch.
I crash into a '72 Buick.



—from the chapbook "Suburban Fuck Farm Anonymous" by Patrick Bocarde