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Commerce of the Undesirable
De Don A. Hoyt
Actions du livre
Commencer à lire- Éditeur:
- Don A. Hoyt
- Sortie:
- Feb 3, 2014
- ISBN:
- 9781310174209
- Format:
- Livre
Description
No less than in our continuing wars on poverty, poisonous substances, poly-ethnicisim, and faith, our “free enterprise” obsessed society too often experiences tragic collateral damage. Hoyt’s poems examine the damage, inflicting discomfort on the unwary reader. Hold on to your convictions if you can.
Informations sur le livre
Commerce of the Undesirable
De Don A. Hoyt
Description
No less than in our continuing wars on poverty, poisonous substances, poly-ethnicisim, and faith, our “free enterprise” obsessed society too often experiences tragic collateral damage. Hoyt’s poems examine the damage, inflicting discomfort on the unwary reader. Hold on to your convictions if you can.
- Éditeur:
- Don A. Hoyt
- Sortie:
- Feb 3, 2014
- ISBN:
- 9781310174209
- Format:
- Livre
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Commerce of the Undesirable - Don A. Hoyt
Author
Free Enterprise
Its mission-like bell clangs,
rubbing everyone’s nose in free enterprise a million
times every night, glittering down the dark street
like some misshapen jewel drowning out the stars.
Inside the 7-11 the Pakistani had stood taller
than his patrons, slim as a winning Lotto ticket
and fuller of dreams, while luxury cars
came and went like hummingbirds at a flower,
the counters around him flat and tempting,
pumps all about dispensing forbidden nectars,
glass doors and video tapes guarding the goods well
from anyone but the silk clad career people
whisking in and out releasing wisps of cool air
into the hot night and trailing perfumes,
their smells blending with the stale hotdog buns.
But now one of them wets on her shoe and
one of them stares at the Pakistani’s blood
while crouching in the corner, his best hope to convince
those waving the guns that they are invisible,
are not identifiable, will remain forever unknown.
Contents
The Men Coming Home
The men coming home are polite until
the sun goes down as the women do;
and the men demand penance
as if founding their own orders,
ordering as if their command of language
was sanctified by some new authority,
a new kerygma not yet gospelized.
The men coming home are generous to a fault,
flexing their abundance unto many generations;
and the men leave in a huff
for the flashing strobes and stroking flashes,
something passing among them that is theirs only,
curing all blindness in the bath house,
musicalized, not yet scored.
The men coming home sing ballads in their gaits,
knuckles cracking like hoof beats on the range;
and the men don’t take shit from nobody, cut throats
like movie bad guys grinning from ear to ear,
background music swelling like the women’s faces,
so everyone in the house knows the action
has just begun.
And the men coming home leave the street empty.
Contents
Empty is the Word
The storm had pelted the ground outside
scattering everyone with its slick diatribes,
the courtyards deserted like disloyal lovers.
Empty as a new gun is the way to describe it,
not what they usually hope for, like a dry
well among brick and mortar scrub trees
or a long hallway toward stairs to the world outside
bounded on each side by odd and even numbers which
no longer count, long gone from forgotten angers,
urine stains in every corner, the smell of cum and cabbage
wafting through the shadows like clues to a mystery
of life better left unfathomed,
stairways gritty with other people’s dreams
tossed aside on the way down to
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