Austin, TX- A Prose Poem

One might have seen us there, stepping in and out of the sunlight that sifted through the trees and the gaps of the Congress St. Bridge, sashaying down the cracked sidewalk like we were one of them. We might have been one of the leathery men playing Woodie Guthrie for just enough money to buy a beer, plucking rusty strings with fingernails that had collected so much dirt, so much dust, so much dirt. We could have had the ruddy cheeks of giggling girls, our legs like satin ribbons dipped into cowboy boots and licit lips that hold back cherry secrets. It's quite possible one might have spotted us in between the hipsters and their hand rolled cigarettes. We could have been reflecting the clouds off our sunglasses or making new ones with the tufts of white acridness, little wonderland caterpillars dressed in stovepipe jeans asking A-E-I-O-Who-Are-You?

We were all of them when we ate our rice bowls by the river while bats peppered the sky. We were all of them when we sucked down SoCo on the roofs of squatty buildings nestled between skyscrapers and loft apartments. We were all of them when we made love in that shapeless hotel.

And then one night, the rain began. It spilled out over the oily streets, washing all that sin and soul into hopeless rain gutters. And somewhere to the west, the hills lifted and pitched while the rain kicked up dust over the rocks. Our bodies rocked gently with the pop and hiss of beer cans and high heels down on sixth street, and I curled my coral toes into the disquietude of that city.