The Ardah

The highway gives way.
and out of the tangled tentacles of asphalt and cement the city rises.
shuddering to a standstill the panting six cylinder
and we pour out the doors and on to the sidewalk
pressed collars and matte hair paste and loan shark smiles
in doors at the bar we bang fists and cheer to the tv screen
choral waves of temporary fanaticism fueled by booze, from the low rack.
predatory glance from the blonde on the corner.
keys in the nose in the bathroom.
they take my cousin's id at the front gate and we mull around the crowd on wall street for a while moving in and out of the unnecessarily strange themed bars the circus freak joint opens to the urban mexican cantina past a few groups of people of color to wink and flash disingenuous smiles at the pack of girl who don’t know where they are they're drinking twelve dollar martinis in silly cocktail glasses admist a sea of waist high held clear plastic cups into the steam punk bar and out into the pavement to assault the street vender with fists of ones and home remedy whitened teeth.
manifest destiny.
hot dogs for everybody.