On The Coast

a poem by Roger B Rueda

I being awake at night, the air was so still that not even
The leaves on the trees were moving as I was sitting
Perfectly still on the wooden bench along a coastal
Highway as if someone had been taking my photograph.
My legs were overtaken by a sudden wave of tiredness.
Most houses were lying dark and quiet. The boys’ breaths
Were smelled of rum. Mine as I blew in my hands on my
Mouth was of semen. The rum bottles were taken already
By the children sleeping rough, for recycling. I looked
For the old queens, my companions, but they had disappeared
Into the dark, their shimmering colourful sequined dresses
Were fairly unattractive but the Roxases I’d got on me. I'd got
A lot of mournfully poetic images and I was edgy to leave.
I managed to flag down a passing tricycle. I rode to the city on it.
I closed my eyes and went to sleep. It was still dark by the time
I arrived home. The old queens, in full ceremonial dress, were
Snoring so loudly in bed, wearing a lot of make-up. I wrote down
My ideas on a piece of paper and happily slept the night.