The shiny new car appears
like a gold blur made to stop
suddenly, and parks
beside me.
I turn to look just
as the driver's door is thrown open--bang
ing
against my passenger side
door.
The fat bespectacled man looks right at
me looking at him.
Gets out of his car, locks it
with his keys
and then turns around to look down at me
sitting in my
old brown beat-up car
with an expression on his rich face
like
what the fuck are you going to do, son?
My mouth open in shock, I watch him waddle off
to the bank
where the glass doors part before him.
I get out of my car
go over to his
and with my left foot
kick the driver's door
counting, "One...two...THREE...FOUR
FIVE!"
Then take the lid off the styrofoam cup
I've been holding
and empty the last half of my banana-berry smoothie
all over the roof and window
of the now not-so-new-looking car.
Get back in my car, start the engine
and reverse
out of the parking space.
Steering it around
I notice
for the first time
the tall black security guard.
He is looking at me angrily.
I put the stick in Drive
and continue on, like nothing happend.
But before I pull out of the bank's parking lot
and onto the street
turn my head back to him
to see if he is still watching
and when I see that he is
give him a look
like
what the fuck are you going to do, son?
in the end
there's no time
to read books
or think clearly
you sit your
bare ass down
in a chair
pants around ankles
drinking another beer
hearing more voices
from the radio
time ran out
on this day
a good one
no time now
for the memoir
just another beer
just another song
in the end
reading the wall
through the window.
Ronan Barbour says, "I've been writing a couple years and have had some poems of mine recently published in the small press, namely in Zygote in my Coffee and Literary Vision. I've also got a few poems forthcoming in My Favorite Bullet, remark, and Zygote. My stuff is mostly about experiences I have or thoughts that come to me while working part-time as a retail clerk."