| Plastic Jason Van Blaricom |
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[Listen to a reading of this poem.] I'm sitting at work Arriving just moments ago Rearranging the chairs so I can have my back to the windows And the 8 o'clock sun won't blind me as I write these words and I remember having a dream last night about lots and lots of tuna fish Three cans of tuna fish! Which if you're poor and hungry is like three loaves of bread Or three dollars which If you can find four cents on the ground between wherever you are and the Pik-Nik down the street Can buy you four tacos, Big Red and a Nutty Bar |
You can only hope doesn't give you flashbacks of jail which By the way, is the same distance from the Pik-Nik as the Pik-Nik is from the University Friday morning Waking from tuna fish to dream of Pik-Nik Where those poor day laborer fuckers are standing behind clouds of their own breath As I drive by on my way to work where One of them was in a wheelchair and I questioned his success and wondered if he went there for the company Though no one was around him The jail and university are equidistant from the Pik-Nik One block away from the army of day laborers I sit in my second story office, surrounded by windows  |
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