“Port Noir in Elsewhere” by Tony Styxx
I have never felt more comfortable than I do in my car…
It’s my ship.
The S.S. NoWhere 7891-A or…just call her The Nowhere.
I feel like Spike, in the swordfish.
Han, in the Falcon.
JeanLuc, aboard the Enterprise.
Even Jack on board the Pearl, ya know….
Free.
And the Philanthropes and the Kuplas and the Psalm Trees play the lo-fi melodies that carry me along
this intergalactic journey that I got exposed to passenger in my cousins Park avenue the same color of
the Hal Jordan’s soul
Or the Wakanda drip Chevy ship My brother Allen used to whip from show to show…
We had them White bricks in the trunk, trafficking
Or my favorite ship of all, was a champagne chariot that a Goddess would steer far and near, it ran on
tears, battery was charge by the heart, the heat didn’t work all that well, so we’d spit poetry in
December until I can only remember us riding around in 40 degree weather with t shirts on…
And then there’s my own… Stormtrooper shaded get away glider, gliding through familiar avenues, I
remember most streets by whom I loved…or lost.
And the trains and freighters I glide besides, locking eyes with truck drivers like cargo men, shipping ice
from asteroids or Diamonds from Neptune, so a guy like me can turn a girl like she into Saturn.
And the patterns that traffic lights keep swinging the ebb and flow of traffic reminds me of intergalactic
space stations George Lucas made seem so cool.
Imagine me living downtown and treating it like Tatooine, because every race is different and with each
culture a change, so how are I and Luke not the same…. Hi dad.
The best part? The lights. Something about driving under city lights feels like slipping in between stars,
imagine I and Aladdin had the same Idea. We hustled up some magic, got ourselves a flying carpet, and
whisked away a beautiful girl, out of our league, past the pyramids. He has Jazmine, I have Jackie. And
we’ve both got a monkey on our back.
I play a mellow jazz groove and slip my ship into hyper drive. I turn signal and request permission and
entrance into the lunar loop 465, destination, Meridian Sector. Where the Elysium of Man and dollar
exist as a central hub in a city so vast in its variety how could one NOT feel as though he is living in one
of those space movies….
If you understood half of this poem, you’d understand that 38th street is the galactic lay line and I simply
want to Gene Starwind in this story…
See you space cowboy….
