‘City #5’, Jason Deary
Where Do You Go When the Record is Over by Jeffery Berg
In the morning, you go to the street clogged with film equipment wires. Woody Allen, a long way from that Annie Hall year, shooting Whatever Works, feeling a lack of spark. You walk past Laura Mars taking pictures, getting low with her zoom lens, brown leather boot stuck out. Supermodels pose. The drums, the bongos kick in, voices in unison ah ah ey ey / let’s all chant. You caress your crucifix, you stomp down Christopher in maroon platforms, black bellbottoms. Your body / my body / everybody work your body. You rollerskate across the pier,
shaking your Patricie Rushen braids. Patrice of Pizzazz, “Forget Me Nots” before Will Smith jacked it for “Men in Black.” Who wants another line? Who wants to be stuffy old Billy Collins in the George W. Bush era? Annoyed at the strand of “More Than A Woman” in his head all day. You shut off NPR. You’d rather be on the lit-up floor, in all day high, riding the chorus even if they’re starting to say disco is doomed because of the Bee Gees. Where do you go when the record is over.