Friday, February 17, 2017

poem || Jeff Bagato

The Golden Touch

                                  & loaded with plastic
                                        & scraps
                             of wood,        
                                                                  just used
                                                 clothes & old
                                  all the note paper,
                                                       button downs & tees
                                     piled in my treasure house,
                                               weighing down,
                                                                      weighed down
                                            yo ho ho with spoils

                     old pennies old buttons old
                            rags, pencil stubs
                                                 & the bust of a man
                                   gone down in his suit
                                             & tie,
                                                         the last stylish haircut
                                                                  & neat wire framed bifocals
                                      scuffed up in the black snow,
                                                in the grit & grease
                      & all that rubber dust
                                          ground off SUV tires with the dog
                                shit & horse shit
                                                      & bullshit—
                                           what kind
                         of man emerges from that husk,
                                                               pupating now in
                 post-capitalist cocoon,
                                perhaps putting aside
                                               caterpillar entitlement
                         to all the green leaves
                                    on the tree?

                             his silence,
                                            such silence
                                                        profound, really,
                                                  so shortly ago,
                            his megaphone on stun,
                 preaching right & free
                                             for all money,
                                                               digital & yes
                                                               & cheering ever higher
                                                    wax-winged flights
                           between risk & profit & pocket
                                                                 & Santa’s pouch &
                                                                        the leprechaun hordes
                                                  of golden steaming piles &
                                    the pure filament of evil greed
                                                       spun so true by Rumpelstiltskin’s
                                                               trolly paws
                                             while gripping the girl’s
                                                                   thigh with a leer

                                                        it’s all
                              about the money,
                                         the clinging, hairy
                        stench of dirty
                                                 whisking from hand
                                                             to hand
                                            at the

                                                             for me these
                                            rags are gold,
                                                        this paper
                                                                 golden, &
                                                     this pen the
                                         scepter of god

No comments:

Post a Comment