Poetry: The Gears by Monching Damasing

The gears
by Monching Damasing
Beer time machine fuel,
A skeleton key.

The room a business model,
A test site
With red walls and dim lights,
Spicy food and loud music.
Promo girl
Offering cigarettes, hotter
Than your date. Say no,
Thank you,
Gently enough they both think
You’re not looking anywhere
You shouldn’t be. Thank you
For a second date,
Then present your hypothesis.
Houston, she kisses you
In a crowded room—
Which one,
What’s the use
Of knowing. Houston,
You’re back. Outside the room
Is a hallway into summer night
Or day again what’s the use—
All the roads are worn
All leading to a small clinic
Underneath a walkway.
Your face the afternoon
Before the field bore your static,
Scarless cheeks.
She walks to you with glaze underneath
Her lip glaze.
Say chicken wings extra hot
And ice
Because you need to keep
Going; it’s the good part
And you’re scared
Of blackouts.
She says something with “10-20 years” in it
And your heart wraps its veins
Over the walls of a house
With a decent lawn. But
The ice takes too long,
The wings barbecue sauce. The gears
Churning slower
And your date’s eyelashes
Become waves
Or feathers
Trying to lift her eyes,
Like a bird
Limping into flight.