EASTER RADIO
My name is something; I am farther
along the evolutionary scale than you would think.
In the old Woolworth's the salt shakers tilt,
craning avidly their necks to peer at
girls walking by - well, what used to be girls.
The wan, disheveled women once were
something - must have had loves and passions,
yet now seek the glorious green that dwells
among the cut-rate pricings of
yellowed saran-wrap and old iced tea.
What it makes for me is boredom:
ancient cart-loads of awesome and tired
boredom, seeking home behind an early
Currier and Ives print crookedly splashed
on cheap point China made somewhere
deep in the idle Philippines.
The voice on the radio says Jesus rose
from the dead. Caparnum or catharsis, he
would surely have stopped here by now.
No comments:
Post a Comment