Fortress.
I see it that way,
with heavy doors and gate keepers,
well, the bouncers,
pulling glass doors with an extra grunt.
Girls with guys, girls with girls,
boys with men, girls with miniskirts
and heels that shuffle on the concrete
swarm into the building
and the line is hopeful to move once more.
It’s 12:28 pm.
So you could say it’s quite early.
The Minnesota breeze is actually
merciful in the summer
and I stand outside,
watching my friends giggle in the moonlight.
Other people with crossed arms
are waiting for texts to show on their phone.
I’ve just been walking in wet sandals,
the soaked leather making me seep into it.
I’ve been here many times.
And when I finally walk into the center
of a coliseum with moving bodies enveloping
each other from side to side,
I know what to expect.
The glass of vodka rum
nearly hit this one girl we went with;
I’m drenched in someone else’s sweat.
I can’t hear, but I can see my friend
dangling around in swarms of onlookers.
They wait for the best time to pounce like lions,
but alcohol is not liquid focus.
I’m tired; we all are.
We run out of the fortress.
I gasp and hold onto my knees,
staring at the half-eaten pizza lying
on the road.
Another friend is mumbling something
about her boyfriend.
I look up to the sky
and think how I’ve nearly spent my
utilities bill on this place.
But damn it was fun.
And I know
I’ll always be back again.
About the Creator
Ti Ana
Writing: surreal poetry, random thoughts, and more.
Insta: tianaishere
Wanna tell me something? Email [email protected]
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