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by Shaara
Rated: ASR · Poetry · Cultural · #821599
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.


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.


© Copyright 2004 Shaara (shaara at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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