economics
A poem.
Image: George Rowlett: Self-Portrait After a Cycling Accident
This a brief return after a long hiatus, here to republish a slightly re-edited poem first published by Gadfly in 2011. The occasion was spurred after revisiting this poem during tonight’s Misery Love Company open mic reading, generously hosted as always by William andRudy of the inestimable Misery Tourism.
“economics”
I.
right now the economy is with us
in the sunroom, watching robins
build a nest in the tree outside
& balance twigs between their beaks.
we sit nearby with the doctor,
our coffee mugs huddled close,
cold from neglect.
my wife’s hand shakes against my leg.
I think about how nobody has the power
to kneel beside the economy
as it smiles at the window.
nobody wants to say aloud
that the economy is dying.
II.
just after dawn with no sleep
I drip after a steam-blind shower.
a splash of dark blood
crawls into the drain of the faux-
porcelain sink.
a newspaper’s ashes huddle by the toilet.
headlines fight for attention,
their voices curled around some unformed center.
III.
the stock market stops by to see the economy
& spends his visit in the living room.
he admires the wall-mounted flat screen,
whistles manic melodies & cracks
his long white fingers. we jump
each time his laughter bounces
off the walls. he answers his own
questions with facts about himself.
after the stock market leaves
my wife brings the economy chicken soup
with the noodles cut in half — she says
they’re more digestible that way.
a few hours later the economy slumps
past the edge of its bed & spews broth
onto the carpet, a wedding gift, watching me
like a child confused by the concept of God.
IV.
the doctor shows us charts, X-rays,
undeniable growth, things too complex
for me to understand.
he says it’s a sign.
I ask if there’s anything we can do
& his eyes flick away like a spent match.
that night we find the economy in the kitchen
spooning coffee grounds with shaking hands.
I just need a little juice, it says.
my wife takes my hand & begins to cry.