Ice Cream Days and Coke Bottle Nights by Alan Catlin

Roller skate waitresses in
legs-up-to-here shorts,
two unbuttoned down tops,
three on a hot night.
White Castle burgers:
five bucks feeds a family of
four with a decent tip for
the girl.
Gets mom out of the house
and away from the stove,
gives the kids a treat and
dad a major eye full.
Hot Summer nights, windows
rolled down for hot, limpid
air, ventilation for unfiltered
cigarettes.
Clip onto window trays,
bring your own green glass
Coke bottles, discard when
empty under nearby elevated
commuter railway supports.
Bottles that can be repurposed
as weapons to be used on
unsuspecting, ride-the-milk-train
cheaters and drunks.
Those lost soul losers destined
to be robbed and beaten blind,
if they’re lucky, if not, left for
dead under concrete stairways
like just so much garbage,
not to be found for days, missing
persons.
Oh, the stink of it, the grease.

Alan Catlin is a widely published poet in the US of A and elsewhere. His most recent book is “Books of the Dead: a memoir with poetry” about the deaths of his parents. He is a retired professional barman and the editor of the online poetry zine misfitmagazine.net.