Ballcaps flipped back,
they sit crosslegged
on the shag,
crunching tacos
off paper plates.
The flow of Garbo’s ethereal scarves
across the black and white screen
transfixes them,
lures them into a baroque suite.
Outside
the Reverend Plague
clamps hairy knuckles and twisted chin
against the picture window,
locked out
until the final credits.