TAKE ME DOWN SAINT PETER
I called but no one was home.
She’s like a ’74 Chevy on concrete blocks.
A chained hound who howls in the yard.
A torn orange flag ripped by rain.
Shit, that was from the day at the Syracuse Fair,
where cotton candy tastes like Saturday afternoon.
Nothin’ to show but a Coney dog and busted lip
for talkin’ too loud at the Howard Street homeboys.
Beneath the statue of Save Me Now Saint Peter,
behind the burned-out ice cream stand.
Over near the shoreline, just south of Salt Lake.
Wildin’ out and shoutin’,
Salt for my Cuervo
Salt for my nuts
Salt taste between her legs
Romeo and Juliet?
Naw, Thorogood and the Destroyers.
Damn, my hoodie don’t cover my face.
Damn, life been comin’ hard at me.
I’m rockin’ the Amtrak headed south.
Over rails made from cobblestone and broken bone.
Straight to New York City.
Straight into sin.
I pray for her and
Saint Peter to come and
take me down.
But my dreams are cotton candy.
I have salt in my veins.
©William Teets all rights reserved
William Teets is an author and poet born in Peekskill, New York, who has recently relocated to Waterford, Michigan. He immensely misses New York pizza, the Hudson River, and his beloved Mets. He will write. He will survive. Mr. Teets’ works have been published in the literary journals, Chronogram, The Deadly Writers Patrol, and Art and Life, as well as in numerous anthologies.