Venice Beach
Sunday afternoon roof
she was completely naked
tanned nipple-pierced and blown-out-on-crack
surrounded by stud muffins, surfers
and gangsta rap wanna-bees
she shouted her free speech anthem
at a pair of sandaled black women,
who as fearful pedestrians wanted nothing
but a little air
after too many trips to the brunch buffet table
when the girl
arms wide to the lollipop sun
realized her audience was black women
she rapidly altered her profane anthem
and cried, "You go girls...go my sistaz"
as if the women were now old friends
who shared a special female bond
that transcended race
and class and morality
and all the dictates of taste.
The black women looked at each other, blushed in shame
I heard the Beach Boys playing
and thought of white collar crime
and Bukowski and mackerel
and the merely criticial stance
which is so often living.
|