Bridesmaid Dresses In Deep Red

not remember a single day of sunshine
during the eighties.

Nobody can do it: the sun never looked
that decade.

The eighties are
dirty puddles on my street, old cars, corduroy
still yellowish gray bars,
the world in sepia, clouds
forever.

A cage of buildings and sidewalks,
of ugly people with ugly clothes
with big dreams that were dying.

The eighties, my father drunk

collapsing with a crash on wet asphalt.