Posts Tagged ‘ poem ’

sal(i)vation bell


i’ve been wanting to ring the bell at christmas for the Salvation Army for years.  this is a poem about rejection by them.

sal(i)vation bell

going to the walmart to cash my inability check
on a winter’s day
i stop like one of pavlov’s dogs by the sal(i)vation bell

yeah i saw their ads on television
where i could extract the lucre
it’s for a good cause and ringing the bell
for an hour in the cold
would do me good or so i thought

so i ask the man:
“can i ring the bell?”

he says his manager will be back in twenty minutes
i can ask him
so i go inside to extract the lucre
from my inability check
and maybe feed a little bit to the sal(i)vation bell people.

my head is humming
at the thought of all the cold hard cash
pouring in the pot
as i stand in line at the service bay
thinking about ringing the bell

it’s for a good cause and
ringing the bell for an hour in the cold
would do me good

so i collect my lucre and go outside
to ask the man
and when i get to the sal(i)vation bell
the manager is emptying the pot

so i ask the man:
“can i ring the bell?”

and he says:
“you’ll have to go downtown and fill out an application”

hmmm
what do i look like? look at me
one of pavlov’s hungry dogs
who wants just once to ring the bell
and they want me to fill out an application
to stand out in the cold
ringing the sal(i)vation bell
and i look like the guy who ate the receipts
but i’m not
and i thank the man and drop a jackson into the bucket
and wonder what has become of me

(Standing In Line) At The Pay Confessional


(Standing In Line) At The Pay Confessional

 

(Standing in line) at the pay confessional
in my photo opportunity suit,
a cabaret of poetry in one hand,
just currency for some canceled Czech,
I get to the magic number dispenser lotto machine
but it’s empty!

A mime in drag with a roll of ticker tapes
sidles up to the promontory of the receiving unit
with the Host.

Will I get to taste Sal(i)vation or have to settle
for Sal(i)sbury Steak instead. Damned mystery meat
plagues my dentifricial overtures!

I take a numberless number, it’s best not to look.
I will be called to the hot seat when my time is /UP/!
Scenic variations drift through my view-strator as I… i.. i.

(stand) in line waiting at the pay confessional.

Behind the Monolith


Behind The Monolith

Behind the Monolith is
a hand-scribbled note

On the back of a drugstore receipt.
“I could still see you”

when your face shattered
at the news of the departure…

Lying in a heap of other notes,
some just as incongruous with the

Continuous hum of the MonOLith.

Here’s one:
“Bacon
Chloroform
Map of Berlin 2006″

written on a cocktail napkin
in lipstick.

Means nothing to me.

So I search through the scraps
that lie at my feet for what seems like-

And then I find it.

Written in my hand on
a used bus ticket from the future

“It isn’t so”

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