Thursday, December 26, 2013

Christmas Eve At The Adult Emporium On Route 46 In Parsippany New Jersey



It was 10:00 on Christmas Eve
And the Adult Emporium
On Route 46
In Parsippany
Was lit up brighter 
Than most Christmas trees.

The place sat glowing in the freezing air.

A lurid warm
Yellow and red
In the quiet 
Dark night.

Only the sporadic clicks
Of steel-belted winter tires
On the seams of the cold concrete
Upon the two lane highway
Just past the sex shop’s 
Modest parking lot
Could be heard.

Surprisingly...

For Christmas Eve
There were only 
A few empty spaces
And a fair amount of sinners
Feigned interest 
Inside
Amongst the aisles
Picking up merchandise
And putting it back.

There was only a handful of serious shoppers
Looking for last minute gifts.

The rest were just cruising
Waiting for a chance hook-up
In one of the video booths.

Christmas carols streamed
In HD from the radio 
Behind the cashier
While he scanned the nine small monitors
On the TV screen 
Before him
Capturing shots
Of the parking lot
The entrance
Different parts of the sales floor
And the hallway 
With eight doors on each side
Of which guys waited anxously.

He surveyed the activity 
Of his customers 
In real time
Lingering amongst the bright flourescent porn colors
And fake flesh
In the salacious aisles of the store.

That’s when Santa walked in.

Setting off the door chime.

“Ho, ho, ho!  Merry Christmas everyone!”

“Ho, ho, ho!!!”

The clerk could smell the booze
Before Santa even approached
The formica counter.

“Merry Christmas!”

“Ho, ho, ho!”

The spirits smelled cheap.

“Yo, Santa! You shouldn’t be in here!”

“You best turn your ass around and go back outside.  I don’t want any problems.”

“You shouldn’t talk to Santa that way.”
Santa replied in the third person.

“Besides, I’m a paying customer!”

Santa flashed a wad of cash.

“I wanna pick up something for Mrs. Claus and the elves don’t make this kinda shit!”
He said with a wink.

“Heh, heh, heh...”

Now Santa had everyone in the shops interest.

There was some subdued giggling and laughing.

“Alright old man.  Wotchoo looking for?”

Santa burped.

“I’m looking for a BBC.”

“A what?”

“A BBC. A BIG BLACK COCK.”
He said through his white beard.

“Mrs. Claus has been bugging me for a big black cock.  Vibrating and realistic of course.”

The customers had now gathered in Santa’s general vicinity.

The clerk slowly took everything in.

“Are you serious?”
He said with a half smile.

“Dead serious.”
Santa replied back
Staring him straight in the eye.

They held their gaze for a moment.

“Alright then, follow me.”

The clerk led Santa
To a wall
At the other side of the store.

“How about this one?”
He held up a plastic package.

“Not big enough.”
Santa said.

“DEF not big enough.”

“How about this one?”
He held up an even bigger package.

Santa wiped his brow.
He was sweating.

“Well, that IS bigger, but it’s not veiny enough.”

“Veiny enough?”
The clerk asked in disbelief.
“Don’t waste my time now!”

“Mrs. Claus wants a BIG veiny black cock that vibrates.  What’s the biggest one you  
  have in here?”

The seedy audience was beholden and sniggering.

“Alright old man, but I hope that you can afford it!”

He moved over a few feet
And reached up high.

He pulled a giant shiny plastic item
Down from the top of the display.

“Jesus!  This thing has GOT to weigh 10 lbs!”

He struggled with it
And Santa’s eyes lit up.

“Does it vibrate?”
He asked.

“Like a jackhammer!”
The clerk said.
“Top of the line!”

Santa smiled.

“Perfect.  I’ll take it!  Do you have gift wrap?”

The clerk shook his head no.

A minute later
He put Santa’s cash in the drawer
Amidst the cheers
Of perverts
And sinners.

He watched Santa Claus leave
In flickering black and white
On the monitors
Of the TV
As he left the store 
And crossed the parking lot
Doing a jig.

“Ho, ho, ho!”
He could hear 
Santa voicing silently
To the cameras
Holding up 
A huge black cock
Sticking out of the biggest bag
They had
At the Adult Emporium.

It was 11:10 PM.

Still enough time.

Mrs. Claus would be happy.



Tuesday, December 17, 2013

When Punk Rock Is Dead (Wake Me Up For The Funeral)



It pains me to say
That I’m 49 years old.

It doesn’t mean a shit
To tell you that I’m punk rock
But I’ve got a mouthful 
Of broken teeth to prove it.

I STILL listen to my music LOUD.

The track marks
Are mentally still there
But physically gone.

All of my chiseled teeth
Were broken in fights
Or in the mosh pit
Except for this last one
Which was broken 
On a hard piece of rice
At a decent Mexican restaurant
In Northeast Philly
Amongst friends and strangers.

“FUCK!”
I winced
Spitting the
Fractured tooth
Out on my plate.

I ordered a tequila.

Drank it.

Then ordered one
For everyone else.

“FUCK IT!”
I said.

The Holy Days



Another poor somnabitch
Jumped from the toll bridge.

The second to jump since Thanksgiving.

The air temperature was 40° minus wind
When he walked out on the crossway
And leapt over the steel rail.

The water was even less forgiving.

Dark
With the sharp white of ice.

Due to recent rains and snowfall
The watermark was 5’ higher
Than normal
For this time of year.

He parked his Mercedes Benz
On the Pennsy side.

The wind was razor sharp
Cutting through fleece
Wool and leather.

His footsteps
Determined
And straight
In the fallen snow.

He was 74 years old
As he straddled the icey barrier
And asked his family and god
To forgive him
And fell
27 feet
Not to be discovered
Until several days later
Blue-grey and cold 
As the winter sky.

The red burning demons
Expelled into the 
Swirling black water.