THERE'S A PAWN SHOP
IN MY HEAD
There's a pawn shop in my head tonight
and everyone's bringing things back, items
I thought were long gone and I'd never need
see again. That schmuck with the tired ideas,
seeking thirty dollars for a twelve-cent thought.
I give him a quarter and hope he leaves. That
lady with the pile of soggy gauze, again. She's
here, this time after swabbing the tears of forty
broken immigrants who got turned back. Take
that, slimy lady! Here's a dollar for your plants.
The guy from the icicle factory, I'm sure to see
him tonight too - always carting in old machinery
parts and tattered wrenches for adjusting freezer
valves. What do I want with that shit! It's worst
than two violins. And I'm sure to see that cello
again too. Egads, wipe me out, move me on,
shut this tired shop in spite of me!
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