I dedicate this ballad to the drunk guy in the subway who fell on me and, in his skillful weaving and wobbling, succeeded in copping a feel:
From the first moment–nay, the first trillisecond–that I descended into the salty-slick sweat clouds of the subway tunnel,
The perspiring air swaddling me in heavy, moist puffs of oniony nerves, caffeine breath, and aperitive fecal fumes,
I felt in the deepest, most decrepit corner of my beating love pump that my metro ride to work would defy the confines of ordinary, take leaps and joyous bounds into the extraordinary.
Not yet did I realize that the elevated pungency that hung thickly in the air,
That the vague yet undeniable whiffs of a vodka moonshine cocktail, emanated solely from you,
Though we hadn’t yet met, you had already sent forth to my inquisitive snout a pungent introduction, an olfactory “Sup girl” of fetid friendship.
You followed me onto the subway, bold pursuant that you are,
And I watched in rapture as you stumbled and wobbled before me,
With the elegance of a limp spaghetti noodle swaying in the wind,
Dancing rhythmically to your own heartbeats, which pumped a glorious mélange of lifeblood,
And the mysterious contents of that brown paper bag in your hand.
You eyed me,
Lazy eye lagging and whirling along its own noble path.
But in a moment, your brave, glassy gaze wandered too far,
That heroically vacant stare retreating far back into your head,
Into that incalculably profound concentration, driving forth from your more-than-pleasantly-buzzed soul a waltz such as I had never before seen.
And my reverence drew to a peak as your lurching waltz
apex of complicated stumbles, muttering, and fantastic contortions,
Lurches of flailing noodle limbs and loose spittle gleaming in the air as it made its way swiftly onto my face.
And suddenly, in a fit of dry-heaving glory,
With cheeks a-bulging, and disconsolate stomach
Out from under what appeared to be a majestic purple button-down,
Of exotic Hawaiian origin,
Shrunken daringly small, caressing a delicate potbelly with loose threads,
And crumbs, so many crumbs, of a long forgotten $1 pizza slice, cascading downwards,
From greasy-slick chin to rounded belly ledge to the sub floor on which your frantic spindle legs wobble-baby-wobbled,
With a hefty lurch, like a sea porpoise exploding out of the salty roiling depths, gasping for air,
My nameless lush-muse, writhing now in sweaty burps and flails,
His misty eyes blinded by the ripe fumes expelled by his slack-jawed maw—a face which could be described as nothing but rapturous oblivion,
Transcendent of all social convention,
Valiantly defying all that which is acceptable,
In any city,
The retching, wiggling gentleman before me,
Exceeded all expectations, all boundaries, once more,
Pitching forward into my private square, bursting to bits my personal bubble,
He collided his planetary mass into mine,
Moaning, groaning, grunting,
His hand is on my chest but I am abstracted,
I am transcended. Civilization, humanity, these concepts mean nothing in this instant of
Someone pulls him off me.
“You alright, miss?” “Yes, thank you.”
I watch purple Hawaiian tee
and its fermenting contents
totter dramatically away into the fresh promise of summer’s fine morn.
But only on the inside.
Only on the inside.
^^A finely intoxicated gentleman in a toupée who I met in Munich who inspired me in many of the same ways