Paying For Water

Safeway
Giant Insects
The Curse
1-800-TRUE-CONFESSIONS-ABOUT-CAPITALISM
Politics For Dinner
The Kilimanjaro Fly
No, Clarence Is Not Here
Death Of A Salesman II
Ant Attraction
Salmon Avenue

Not even a faucet
could turn it
off






Safeway

When all the money
you have in the world
is eleven dollars
and 89 cents
when you can
hold it in the cup
of your hands
you get used to
bagpipe soup
and caterpillar pie

And on
one meal a day
Safeway
looks like a church
or a heaven




Giant Insects

Giant Insects
are invading
the United States
tearing pieces
out of the cities

In the water
under the streets
they tunnel
and buildings
sink

Like unfortunate
casualties of
the 20th century
the skyscrapers
become decks of cards
and crash down

Finally the army
and national guard
are called in
to take charge
to blow all the bugs
back to the Stone Age

But not before
resting
for a moment
on the poetic
sight of burning
giant insects






Hate can be manufactured
and spun out of control
like an armored car






The Curse

The only way
she can win at love
is to steal something
She took my copy
of On The Road
and some stories
I wrote

Alright…

May a cursed pelican
with eternal tuberculosis
wrap itself around her neck
forever more




1-800-TRUE-CONFESSIONS-ABOUT-CAPITALISM

Yes, this is the truth. I was interviewed for a job
by a man who was like a robot, powered by unwinding
rubber bands. He pointed like a high tension wire
at the photocopy machine and his words slid out
slow as 5¢ copies. He told me what my hours
would be and it was like watching the inside
of a clock. Still, I would rather work for a robot
falling apart than the bosses I usually have.
Working for a product of Radio Shack
would be bearable. I was actually smiling
almost at the idea of getting this challenging
part-time job. I would be making photocopies
for $4.50 an hour. As I left, on the sidewalk
in front of me, someone dressed in white
was blubbering and being dragged
by a loaded cart down a steep incline.
“Good company,” I thought at the time,
“I sure hope I get this job.” The next day,
when I called up to see if he had made any
decision yet, I was told he had been in
a tragic car accident and wouldn’t be
returning for weeks, maybe months.






Perry Mason’s
sleeping bag






Politics For Dinner

He tossed the nachos aside
scattering them like tragedies
Zapata and failed agrarian reforms
the plight of the campesinos
and Remember the Alamo!

It looked like he would wander
all night looking for food
storming past Chinese
cursing Mao and the revolution
gone astray into genocide

I hoped for some pasta
but not him, he raged at
the employees about Mussolini
hanging their guilt upside down
from telephone poles

He refused to set foot
in a German restaurant
that old history
and so in desperation
I led him to McDonalds
but he grabbed the school kid
at the cash register and ordered
“Overthrow capitalism, you pawn!"
it was imperialist fast food

There was nowhere left,
we had exhausted all possibilities
every restaurant was corrupt
so we went home and ate
Eskimo Pies with water
(there were probably whales
dead for this meal)




The Kilimanjaro Fly

I killed a fly
the size of a dog
It barked and exploded
all over my wall
I had stalked it
all night long
like a big game hunter
in a novel by Hemingway




No, Clarence Is Not Here

Two times the strange parrot voice
called my number and asked for Clarence
and twice I told him, “No Clarence is not here.”
When the phone rang again, I decided
to become Clarence.
“Hello.”
“Hello, is this Clarence?”
“Yes, this is Clarence. Listen,
I’ve been waiting for you to call!”
“I—”
“Have you seen the news,
have you watched the television?!”
“Yes, I—”
“They’re onto us! We’re doomed,
the bloodhounds are on the way!
I hear people walking on the street,
I know they’re coming for me!”
I was really acting, laying it on good.
“Clarence, get a hold of yourself.
That’s why I’m calling, I left you a gun.”
“A what?”
“A gun. There’s a gun in the desk,
over by the window. Clarence, you must
get it.”
“What?” I looked at my desk.
“Get the gun, Clarence.”
I was walking, I was hypnotized
and the drawer came open
and inside was a black pistol
laying there. The voice
in my ear continued.
“You have failed, Clarence.
You know the consequences.
We cannot allow them
to discover our plans.
Goodbye Clarence.”
I pressed the pistol
against my temple
as he hung up.




Death Of A Salesman II

The American Polygraph Association:
Dedicated To Truth


It seems to be
just another way
of trapping you
in a room of wax
McCarthy’s ghost
they ask questions
like rate how honest
you are…Would you
turn in your parents
for smoking crack?
And after all was
said and done
I walked out
with their pen.
On purpose.






All his ideas
were returned
to the Earth






Ant Attraction

Orwell and Huxley were wrong: The Future belongs
to the ants. Workers will devote their entire lives to
the Queen. They will fight wars and build vast colonies
underground. Though desert winds will cover the Earth,
the dunes will shake and hum with the goings on
underneath. That’s where Wink Thorax has his studio
and beams out his show ‘Ant Attraction’ to eager
millions everywhere. The tunnels jam up each
Wednesday as males try to get on the program,
clawing for a chance to be permitted to sit in front
of the camera and sell themselves, knowing that
inside that black, smoked glass booth sits the
Queen, gloriously. And finally, ever slowly,
her jeweled hand will flick out and point to
the winner.




Salmon Avenue

Through the steam
and water of my shower
the salmon are moving
upstream
Somehow
they’ve taken
the industrial route
into pipes
under sidewalks
and sprinklers
on lawns

When oceans
rivers and lakes
are the past
chopped up
and polluted
memories
they find
their water
elsewhere

Swimming past
my feet
on their way
to a full bathtub
or a reservoir






Stairs
become
waterfalls





writing: allen frost in 1990