Grody, Wired

by Clem Flowers

Acid undertones on every smile in town as the horns on rocket beach mingles with the sleigh bells around the mossy wishing well and a squall of gulls above shakes us loose of every idea of solitude, as if the cigarette smoke & high watt souvenir stand signs weren’t hard enough to ignore and yet the faintest breeze sailing up off the reservoir is enough of a counterpunch to really send us, hand in hand, to Valhalla in our heads, loud dipshits revving disgusting 8 cylinder abominations down the main drag be dammed while we split funnel cake and plop our feet into the frigid sheet of water and we bashfully harmonized to “Hold Me Now” wafting along the shore like the aroma of a fresh pie on a cartoon windowsill off the PA system of the shoreline bar and grill right beside the Ferris wheel that just lit up for the night & perfection is actually ours for one fragile sapphic moment.