wabena

Fat Wabena bought the stereo quick on credit
or so it seemed by her wry quarter smile as boxes
of gizmos were lifted by pimpled teens onto carts
and pushed out through dense rain to her half
rusted auto,

when the kids left, she set it down in an oily puddle
where cigarette butts floated like dead submarines
next to her bottle of discount gin in the gray parking lot.

She let the pigeons and gulls and water have their way
with her purchase as it drowned in the dim light,

and took a long swig of the juice, fire inflamed her throat
like a shopping spree gone utterly mad and her dimples,
they crimsoned, opened and fluttered like wings of
angelic desire as the booze, thank god, did its job.

Her sad head began to bob in the downpour as,
numb now, she sobbed and coherently muttered
of old music and long gone absentee gods.