waikiki

by Steven J. Serafiani

in between turquoise motel doors and
a parking garage full of screaming
girls; okra, potatoes, zucchini and
chops sizzle in foil.

eat like caveman at midnight and
talk like sailors under a waxing
cratered.

smoke too many and tequila, this
is a goddamn perfect night.

waikiki and the purity of a
stranger dinner.

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