January 20, 2010

Delassandro’s Meat Market

by John Rocco

I saw David Cronenberg at the Mets game
sitting next to Aragorn
the sword broken again
to be forged again
reminding me that in Queens
the everlasting universe
of things
is not required in
Delassandro’s Meat Market.

The girl cashiers
write their own play,
the dialogue all their own.
Minor goddesses working
for minimum wage.
Half of them are pregnant and working the register.
Teenage girls mortal immortal calling for a price check.
Once, looking at red steaks,
I had a vision of the great mystery:
the back swinging doors swung open
secret sight
sacrifice to the angry Flushing Gods
flesh for fantasy
to reveal meat machine
red meat on tracks delivered to
Spanish teenage girl hands
with a gold stud in her nose.
She fumbled the red meat
and almost dropped it.

*John Rocco at MySpace: http://www.myspace.com/292819823


RC Miller said...

Both poems are absolutely fantastic, John. This one makes me miss my beloved Astoria.

Post a Comment