Jason Van Blaricom
Jason Van Blaricom Page 1
[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