Photo: Free market economy. David Graham
And another poem today by the wizardly Martha Silano, who often proceeds at full tilt.
Hopefully you’re not pinned between a cable
and a crashing gondola, hopefully not on the clock
but busy catching bulldog stargazers, reckoning the cloud
above you resembles not a sheep but a giant wad of Orbit.
Here it’s a Saturday at the Full Tilt Arcade & Creamery,
cases freshly loaded with Mango Chili, Golden Guernsey Honey,
Vegan Coconut Chunk, quarters jangling in my pocket, poised
to be shoved into the slot for a round or four of The Simpsons/
Pinball Party, and just as the first ball pops on deck, in walks a woman
asking for vacuum cleaner bags. Everything’s digitized! I yell between slurps
of Roxbury Road, between gentle bumps with alternating hips
to increase my chances of getting the ball to land smack-dab
on Homer’s light-up nose. Why don’t you program your vacuum
to empty itself? But this only confounds her more, this gal who
must've snuck up through a crack in the pavement direct from the Menlo Park
Woolworths, which shuttered its doors in 1979. Maybe Target, I offer.
You would think, she scowls, making her way toward
the treacherous, cream-less, ping-less street. You would think.