Friday, November 13, 2015

poem of the day 11.13.15


friday night
i remember when friday night
used to feel magical

now i got a representative
from the phone company
pounding at my door

he’s black
i don’t want to seem rude
by not answering the door

i don’t want to give the white people
in this neighborhood and this country
a worse reputation than they already have going right now

so i answer
and say before he can say anything
what in the hell are you doing working on a friday night?

three vodkas in
and i’ve already forgotten how america works
how it works us at its own convenience

he says, time for an upgrade
starts talking phone and internet and cable packages
while i stare at my withered body
withered face in the hallway mirror
thinking something different

so i say, come on, man
five days of having people talk at me
cry at me
scream at me
make accusations at me

man, these three vodkas don’t want to hear
about some multinational, monopoly phone company upgrade
that’s going to hit my wallet like a russian heavyweight
then i swirl the half-full vodka tumbler
for good measure
say, can’t you see the importance of what’s going on here?

he says, let me come inside
five minutes
we’ll have vodka together
we’ll talk about an upgrade

my vodka…is all i can say

i shouldn’t be so covetous at that
it’s bottom shelf

three vodkas on a friday night that used to be so magical
and i’ve already forgotten
what america allows me to drink

he says, well, when would be a good time
to come back and discuss this?
says, tomorrow morning
before i can even slur out a response

i tell him
tomorrow morning will be hangovers
and a sixth day of work
and if you come knocking on my door then
we’ll be having a different kind of conversation

aw man, he says
he shakes his head and walks away

end of sales pitch
end of the upgrade

and i forgot i was tonight’s appointed ambassador for white america
down here in the rat’s ass end of brooklyn

a touch melancholy
i close the front door and kill the drink

visions of a fourth vodka dancing in my head

as my wife says from the kitchen
you were rude to him, you know

you’re always rude
when people come and knock on our door.


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