A Friday evening perspective. |
SLAM 2004: Prompt -- Meld the following: Requirement: Any choice of poem type -- I chose free-style. Interior object: my orange-streaked cat Exterior sight: a hyacinth peeking through the cocoa husk compost bark Broadcast media: Wall Street Week with Louis Rukheyser Print media: an article about Irish whiskey -- only $100 a bottle ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ A Single Ray of Purple in a Cocoa-Smelling World Wall Street Week is clamoring at the rise of all our prices. It's a weakening economy, the dollar keeps on falling. A tail flaps against my nose. My cat meows demands, so obligingly I pet my furry-ball of orange. Greenspan then declares, “We're cutting off retirement.” My heart begins to race; I take a glance outside, Inhale the smell of cocoa of the woody flakes of compost. laying at the feet of a Lincoln scarlet rose. But what's that tiny growth coming up beside it? A single bloom of purple steals my eyes away from Lou. A hyacinth with frills, so perky and so daring. I wonder how it grows when all else keeps falling. “Meow” comes the answer. Time to change my stroke. Kitty launches an attack, pouncing on my Fortune. She has crinkled up an article on carmeled Irish Whisky. They're charging two whole fifties for a bottle of the stuff. Amazing, I start thinking as my fingers do rotation on the furry, orangy fuzz that's purring in my lap. I wonder what's the price for drinking just a sip. A businessman from Wall Street says,"Better look for value." But instead I rub a chin and calculate the servings of a single hundred bucks, thinking how I'd spend it. The kitty chews the article. The cocoa sends its scent, and Lou continues talking, so I yawn and start to nod. I dream of Fortune Magazine of carmel-flavored drinks, and a single ray of purple in a cocoa-smelling world. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Note: Lou refers to a famous stock advisor I used to watch on T.V. named Lou Rukheiser. I was very attached to him, in the way people get when they watch someone on T.V. with regularity. I was sad when he passed. He didn't feel like a stranger. Greenspan was our economics guru, adjusting the state of money right and left in ways I'll never understand. He was replaced with someone, who is due to to be replaced by someone else. Meanwhile, the money keeps on flowing down a hole, down a hole, and I suppose that special Irish Whiskey now costs double what it did when I wrote this poem. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ |