Tuesday, December 16, 2003
Vietnam Armani
Standing on our separate
sidewalk squares,
Nab & I watch the
desperate television sunset,
squaring our shoulders
and making our spines
stand up to the symbols.
Nab nudges me from across
the grainy tube—
'It’s something-something in
that movie with all the actors.'
We grow silent and admire,
sit forehead-to-forehead,
our eyebrows knitting
together and apart,
as we sift through self-criticisms,
placing them against rituals,
debasing and escaping.
And then comes Carmody,
charging across the screen,
wearing Vietnam Armani,
screaming secrets.
Nab & I move back with the crowd,
snickering in time,
though still dreaming
of combat boots and
what is cool.
sidewalk squares,
Nab & I watch the
desperate television sunset,
squaring our shoulders
and making our spines
stand up to the symbols.
Nab nudges me from across
the grainy tube—
'It’s something-something in
that movie with all the actors.'
We grow silent and admire,
sit forehead-to-forehead,
our eyebrows knitting
together and apart,
as we sift through self-criticisms,
placing them against rituals,
debasing and escaping.
And then comes Carmody,
charging across the screen,
wearing Vietnam Armani,
screaming secrets.
Nab & I move back with the crowd,
snickering in time,
though still dreaming
of combat boots and
what is cool.
