Enter Home Planet News Poetry of Issue #4                        Page 36
                                   
Table of
Contents



Coney Island

As they mixed a blend of baby oil, iodine, “Brooklynese”, and “Dentyne”
High-haired high school girls in two-tone “Jantzen” bathing suits
Glistened hot in the August sun

Reflectors,shoes,flip-flops in bags, magazines and coolers
Anchored old sheets and blankets against the wind

Reading trashy “Dell” soft covered, one hundred page love stories
Peering over the tops of their novels and sunglasses
For the boy of their dreams
Or perhaps just a summer-time fling on “Bay” 15

With that mixture cupped in hand,
They buttered each other’s strapless backs
Being careful not to arch up too far, too fast

As they lay on their stomachs smoking and listening
To transistor radios in plastic bags
Playing “Love Letters In The Sand”, they dreamt

Beneath a hazy orange glow,
Dimming late summer afternoon dreams of love were renewed
As they spied sandy lovers
Secreted by a “Venetian blind” of shadow and light, under the boardwalk as they left,
Back in the “fifties”



  Anthony Vigorito
      C 6/20/03



Up The River

Angry, muscled, “Lucky” smokin’
Greased back, cocky, struttin’
Switchblade renegades
Fought Brooklyn neighborhood pompadoured gang wars
Back in the fifties

Poor boys who couldn’t go home no more
Never had one to begin with, more the pity

Chains, zippers, big buckled “Garrison” belts
“Zip guns”, toothpicks, stuck gloves in epulets
Spun in violent circles embracing
Deaths dance in the “gutter”
Delinquent leather revolution
Gang war “rumble”

The gray bar hotel echoes,
Heard in dead end alleys on Desolation Row, with no way out
Bleak wet shine, slick street crime under fire escapes dripping in the rain
Warned that “crew”, dire consequences implied, a conscience contained

As they stood in a circle around a “manhole” cover
Ditchin’ a long murderous “shiv”
Through the small central hole in the middle
Down into the sewer filled with sludge
Under the streets of Brooklyn

“Get rid of it now”, or they’ll send you up the river
For some that was enough to straighten them up
Unfortunately for most a hollow threat at best
Lost boys in the city, no where to go
“Goin’ up da river”,
The only home they’d ever know



  Anthony Vigorito
c 10/25/02



Villanelle

I think I’ll melt my mask and set me free
and let my brain run loose to spurt and stray
Perhaps the world will choose to censor me.

I’ll drink my wine from crispy cups of tea
and sleep in rocking rainbows night and day
I think I’ll melt my mask and set me free.

I’ll eat an onion dressed in bumblebee
dance naked down a church’s aisle in May
Perhaps the world will choose to censor me.

I feel that God will giggle loud with glee
He too is tired of my patterned way
I think I’ll melt my mask and set me free.

I’ll shred each euphemism that I see
And slice the earth wide open while I pray
Perhaps the world will choose to censor me.

I know that I have found the master key
My ice blue brain has thawed and dripped away
I think I’ll melt my mask and set me free
Perhaps the world will choose to censor me.

        Mildred Cavallo__