America’s Beat

[Vesuvio Cafe - San Francisco]

Cone-shaped lamps vacuum up congealed fry-grease in Snow White’s Café. 

1946. 

Hollywood.

An African man sits wearing a bowler hat drinking a double-pint of Elysian, 

Nodding gently to Elvis over the loud-speaker.

2020.

A German woman sips red wine, nibbling on tortilla chips dipped modestly in guacamole, whilst her middle-eastern acquaintance drips ranch sauce down his overgrown, woodland chin.

A George Harrison woodland walk. 

Art pieces and enjoying the outdoors in Liverpool –

A tribute.

Trouble in Alabama. Vehicle into gas pumps.

The high school girl slamming.

Virus spreads in US, Seattle. 

Long lines at Costcos. 

Mourning at Trader Joes – dead on the leap year.

The German sips and looks up to the typing English girl.

Once in a blue moon she smiles at the girl who drinks orange induced eclipses, 

whilst watching an Asian man fist-pump the LA-capped, pony-tailed man leaning over the bar.

2020. 

The African man gulps down a stein. 

Coors light. 

$7 a pint.

$12 a stein.

Her stomach churns at the smell of deep fried potato skins – sizzling in symphonic starvation.

The Hollywood Museum – a train back through the glory days of the Pointer Sisters and

Nebulous mornings when Marilyn Monroe applied Max Factor make-up onto her unblemished skin.

“We hope we have pleased you.”

An era of psychopaths and vampires,

Of Hannibal the Cannibal and Clarice and Chianti.

17:41 his pizza slice arrives. 

Salt applied and second slice ordered.

Pepperoni.

“Thank you.”

He walks swiftly out the door – 

Pint downed and pizza in napkin – 

Swaggering on a mission to reach Hollywood Boulevard.

The sky dims, alighting fluorescent signs of El Capitan Theatre – 

Ready for the influx of night tourists gawking at stars and imprints. 

Stiletto heel and hand.

The pictures.

My lack of impulse is about to become your problem.

Making millions and living in Beverly Hills,

Far above the 1 legged man, standing above Paul Anka’s star.

$12,000 a year to maintain. 

$40,000 upfront. 

Fans pay.

What about the man who crossed The Mediterranean and opened Mo’s Eggs?

Where is his hand?

The imprint of the first step he took on safe soil?

Hungover outside Zara.

“You again!”

“You’re treating me!”

She walks and laughs.

“Check please!”

But what happens to the solemn stack of fries left on his plate?

Can she eat them?

Wasted on the rich and full. 

German composition from the 30s and whiskey bar. 

It was a big pressure to see how they could follow up their first album when adding a fourth member.

Country music breaks out.

Waiter throws away fries.

Irish woman laughs.

Which democrat?

“Never.”

“I’m from California.”

“Where do you play for fun?”

Good thing I’m not from Washington State.

Triangular pizza box handed over the bar to Mr LA with his cap on and electric blue hoody pulled up.

Exit.

—

English girl in El Paso.

Dead beach Brewery and Poppin’ Pils

$6.

100 meters to the border fence… is this where the Hondurans and Colombians are turned away-

Sent back to Guatemala to be detained in permanent impermanence?

Skip over the fence. Why not? 

The border control van in sight is at least 900 meters away.

Colourful buildings cry on the border of Mexico.

Graffiti and grime. 

People can coexist.

She could reunite our people one day,

Rather than him slaying the aliens with tridents.

Where they come from,

The sea carries their tears away-

Or their lives.

Spaniards topple around – bulging with tostones and tacos and the tall dark stranger.

Little boy – fat from Saturdays in the pub,

Gawks at his mother’s ass being grabbed by, perhaps, his dad.

His older brother is focused on Anchor Man.

Wandering aimlessly out of the skeleton-lined pub,

He returns with a wafer laced in American chocolate,

Gobbling in grief – in pursuit of greatness – to be let down again by the adults around him.

White man at bar dips torn giant pretzel into white goop.

His blue-checked shirt matches the cheap paper that lines his basket of bread and Dead Beach doe.

17:58 they leave with little boy nodding desperately.

18:01 Mexican man and son in matching T-shirts exit the beach-

And white American man tips his green cap upwards whilst he orders from a skeletal tap wearing an elephant hat – 

A testament to what?

Hunting?

Death?

The desire to be in a desert in Africa, not stuck in this shit hole of a border barren?

No other Greyhounders here.

The English girl is alone with her ipad and backpack.

They look at her – hands on hips in suspicion or seduction.

When she speaks they stare at her dried, chapped skin and right teary eye.

Man in red said she’s beautiful.

She is swollen and aspiring – skipping along to America’s beat. 

[Historic Square - Denver]