South Street, Philadelphia, Friday Night
Brian Fanelli
Couples seeking weekend kink slip into sex shops
where mannequins in black fishnets and pink wigs
wave from windows. Outside, a pot-bellied man howls,
repent, repent, clenching a silver cross that gleams
like a sword. Not one customer burns with shame,
no matter how much the corner preacher spews,
This city is a den of sin!
Down the block, a man in a frayed Phillies cap
spouts at city police, calls them constitution killers,
as corrupt as the halls of Congress
for arresting his friend who flashed a boob.
A neck-tattooed cop leans against his car, cracks a smile
when a Temple student staggers across the street,
screams, Yeah, fuck the police, bro.
A woman in a black sleeveless dress
walks her puffed-up Pomeranian through the scene,
causing a waitress on smoke break to bark,
Damn, that dog’s an ugly piece of fuzz.
When the pet owner passes Crash, Bang, Boom,
two punks in $80 bondage pants and hair the color
of neon restaurant signs stare and sneer, yuppie.
Like the cops and sex shop workers,
the woman presses on with a scrappy swagger
learned from the city that raised her.
Brian Fanelli
Couples seeking weekend kink slip into sex shops
where mannequins in black fishnets and pink wigs
wave from windows. Outside, a pot-bellied man howls,
repent, repent, clenching a silver cross that gleams
like a sword. Not one customer burns with shame,
no matter how much the corner preacher spews,
This city is a den of sin!
Down the block, a man in a frayed Phillies cap
spouts at city police, calls them constitution killers,
as corrupt as the halls of Congress
for arresting his friend who flashed a boob.
A neck-tattooed cop leans against his car, cracks a smile
when a Temple student staggers across the street,
screams, Yeah, fuck the police, bro.
A woman in a black sleeveless dress
walks her puffed-up Pomeranian through the scene,
causing a waitress on smoke break to bark,
Damn, that dog’s an ugly piece of fuzz.
When the pet owner passes Crash, Bang, Boom,
two punks in $80 bondage pants and hair the color
of neon restaurant signs stare and sneer, yuppie.
Like the cops and sex shop workers,
the woman presses on with a scrappy swagger
learned from the city that raised her.
