Der Alte Mann sat before him slouched over the chessboard. Other old bloated men lined the torn leather booth like a pile of sacks straight back to the flashing slot machines. The lust for game leaving them all depleted, not even roused from the cushions by the girl who was spinning on her toes beside the abandoned pool table, her toothless smile under the green lamplight. She shuffled dizzily to the bar & slammed her hand down. Mensch. He could've captured the queen with his rook, but he let the chance pass & lost the match. Der Alte Mann lifted up his head & grumbled. Stray hairs of his beard clung to his collar. He didn't know if he was boasting about his victory or insulting him for his shameful play. The girl came over to him, grabbed his hand & spun him around on the slender dancefloor to the siren of an untouched slot machine. You sing me a song, cowboy, she said, rum on her breath, take me somewhere & sing me a song. He wrapped his arm around her & let her dip back. She reeled upward & he slung the case over his shoulder & spun her over to the door. Der Alte Mann chuckled & slapped his thighs. They walked & came to a chainlink fence bowed & bordering the trainyard. Is this your secret place, she asked. Not anymore, he said, lifting her up until she pulled herself over & fell without a shred of grace onto a dry patch of weeds. Across a chalk path gullied & cracked, kicking up dust that reeked of diesel. The bridge across the field posing as a horizon, its steel gleam bisecting two realms of darkness, the faint red glow of the city through a fortress of trees & the cloudswept sky. A platform overlooking a golf range: the balls beyond brightly hovering like wayward stars. A train coursed above. Her dead gaze on his hands as he weaved his way to the last verse of a song until he stumbled over the words & hummed & went silent.
5/28/08
Three Rail Corner
Der Alte Mann sat before him slouched over the chessboard. Other old bloated men lined the torn leather booth like a pile of sacks straight back to the flashing slot machines. The lust for game leaving them all depleted, not even roused from the cushions by the girl who was spinning on her toes beside the abandoned pool table, her toothless smile under the green lamplight. She shuffled dizzily to the bar & slammed her hand down. Mensch. He could've captured the queen with his rook, but he let the chance pass & lost the match. Der Alte Mann lifted up his head & grumbled. Stray hairs of his beard clung to his collar. He didn't know if he was boasting about his victory or insulting him for his shameful play. The girl came over to him, grabbed his hand & spun him around on the slender dancefloor to the siren of an untouched slot machine. You sing me a song, cowboy, she said, rum on her breath, take me somewhere & sing me a song. He wrapped his arm around her & let her dip back. She reeled upward & he slung the case over his shoulder & spun her over to the door. Der Alte Mann chuckled & slapped his thighs. They walked & came to a chainlink fence bowed & bordering the trainyard. Is this your secret place, she asked. Not anymore, he said, lifting her up until she pulled herself over & fell without a shred of grace onto a dry patch of weeds. Across a chalk path gullied & cracked, kicking up dust that reeked of diesel. The bridge across the field posing as a horizon, its steel gleam bisecting two realms of darkness, the faint red glow of the city through a fortress of trees & the cloudswept sky. A platform overlooking a golf range: the balls beyond brightly hovering like wayward stars. A train coursed above. Her dead gaze on his hands as he weaved his way to the last verse of a song until he stumbled over the words & hummed & went silent.
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