West Coast Party

party in the living room
languid limbs, stoned into sedation
watching futurama on the big-screen tv

narcotized with its
clever light less warm than laser beams
pastel patterns play across the flat surface

keg squatting in the backyard
people smoking cigarettes
between pauses, half-sentences

pit bull in the kitchen
with a body like a drum
runs across linoleum and skids

bland man holding beer
talks about his business
a shop in the woodland mall

he says "its like hot topic
mixed with pier 1 imports
a little something for grandma...

and body jewelry for the kids"
and a pale lass with red pigtails wears a shirt
that says "brazil," (where she's never been)

bongos in the backyard
a white guy with dreds slaps them
and nobody pays much attention

tiny pinpoints of black
in ice-blue eyes, in the hatchet face
of a tweeker, clothes draped over skeleton

ghosty goat beard,
black beanie, he pushes through kitchen
and goes back to the yard

ziplock bag stuffed with cannabis
on the couch, a few ounces or so
green in waiting purpose to suspend time

black boy in bob marley shirt
looks shyly around kitchen, quiet
people in stoned still, masked dreams