Freon Neon

Freon Neon came walkin’ through my door
cool, like a chilly beer
always far, always near
slapped her back as she lay on the couch
and said, how are ya’ my dear?
Freon Neon had gray muttonchops
and wore a cowboy hat
black vest to go with his suit
smokin’ pipe and a pinch of toot
she’s all yours, Freon, I said
no rigor mortis yet
why that’s never bothered me
and I reckon’ she won’t fret
his Texas accent spewed
as he went to work
inserting needles draining
a professional never feigning
the art of juice sucking the dead
soon the craftsman starts
his trade that fools y’all
sliding neon tubes
where there was once blood and vein
filling her with the gas
illuminating the brain
now propping her up gently
to dress her in this season’s
latest fashion craze
a mini-skirt yellow blouse
then plugging her in to check
arms radiate the buzz
of a cool, electric blue
legs red like a summer’s tan
so bright and bold and splashy
this glowing new mannequin
will adorn so many stores
Freon Neon came walkin’ through my door

Written at McAleer’s Pub, New York City, 1995

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