Front Porch Review
A literary magazine for the young at heart and mind

The wind shucks and jives
through the stale air of the Seventies disco
after the last Hustle has been boogied.
Tumbles over bathroom stalls that witnessed
legions of coke-impaired sex.

Bumps open office doors
where the evening take
is buried in a safe under the shag.
Where managers were hired
and fired in that order.
Whirls on roller blading wafts over
bar counters wiped of citric juice infused drinks
and spewed spittle flicks, from wanting
to be heard above the Bee Gees.

Out through the velvet
ropes that are lifted for the wealthy, connected,
attractive, and hip.  A democracy of success,
however flitting, while bouncers calculate status,
repelling our wandering wind to rise,
reenter and circulate,

absorbing in its whirlwind
past dancers of sambas,
ragtime, and flappers.
Hauling out through the back door,
its blended mixed media hybrid
or dump in the dustbin.

The wind or people mocking the other,
touching and carrying along remnants
of scenes pushed aside, tagged
for further reference, gathered
to author something new.

By Paul Handley

Paul Handley spent a career as a student and a student of odd jobs.  He has an MA, an MPA, and is ABD.  He has driven a cab and sold meat door-to-door.