Monday Musings - Old ‘89

Old ‘89

Crashed my lightning blue ’89 Cavelier into the 1&9

divide after the Giants won Superbowl XLII.

So I wandered the Jersey City underworld cloud heavy

passed motorcycle hangovers and White Mana

thinking how a lonesome star like mine could get the

moon’s attention without police and hospital

lights on my tail to sweep up the busted glass and

me off someone else’s powdered lines.

Everybody’s drunk tonight, Saturn-ringed, speeding

with some sweet heartache wrapped around a

tattooed arm like a worn-out Timex or a cheap bomb.

I think about the snapshots of my autopsy haunting

the front page of the Journal, my little roadside diversion

loitering the Youtube expanse for Stoned-Age

frat boys with nothing better to do than record my last

minutes for his 15 of fame, my own cheated for a

late night thumbsucker, platinum second mate in heels,

says she’s been searching for a strong sailor with an

ashtray heart so she can burn away the last of her regrets.

What else can you say to an offer like that when

you’re dizzied off a 12-pack of Bud, lost in the beautiful

car crash beneath the bridges of her eyebrows?

Sure, I tell her, and tearing apart my ivory button down,

I lay her head on the scar where my heart used to be.

I’ll put out the pain, Love. In both of us.


Every Monday, GJC will be sharing a poem from John Trigonis, a local JC Heights resident, poet, writer, and coffee aficionado, in our Monday Musings.

#Poetry #Driving #JerseyCityHeights #art #Love #19

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