Behind an Old Man at the ATM
He is pushing buttons
like he's having a seizure.
It's 2001: A Space Odyssey,
and Hal refuses to dispense money.
He is banging the keypad with his hand,
presumably to decode Nazi transmissions,
and finally win the damn war.
A child begins to shriek behind me
with the intensity of a carbon monoxide detector.
The man has started talking to the machine
in low threatening tones.
The child turns the volume up to twenty-three.
A lesser goldfinch stiffens,
and falls dead to the pavement.
I can see the withdraw cash screen.
I shuffle closer.
The man starts yelling, and waving his arms
in a Fred Sanford heart attack.
He won't pay a fee for his money.
His voice blends with the child's
in unholy cadence. I expect
tentacled old gods to break through
the pavement. The man ends with a fit of coughing,
and then announces that this is not his bank.
He is pushing buttons
like he's having a seizure.
It's 2001: A Space Odyssey,
and Hal refuses to dispense money.
He is banging the keypad with his hand,
presumably to decode Nazi transmissions,
and finally win the damn war.
A child begins to shriek behind me
with the intensity of a carbon monoxide detector.
The man has started talking to the machine
in low threatening tones.
The child turns the volume up to twenty-three.
A lesser goldfinch stiffens,
and falls dead to the pavement.
I can see the withdraw cash screen.
I shuffle closer.
The man starts yelling, and waving his arms
in a Fred Sanford heart attack.
He won't pay a fee for his money.
His voice blends with the child's
in unholy cadence. I expect
tentacled old gods to break through
the pavement. The man ends with a fit of coughing,
and then announces that this is not his bank.
The secret of poetry is cruelty.--Jon Anderson