having money
i have no need for money.
stamped
with a symmetrical face
by the turnstile of fate
i find no recourse
in the lamentations
of the pockmarked cripple.
branded
with the constitution
of a wolf
i seek neither counsel
or sustenance
from any of you.
bereft of empathy
heart
and soul
i grasp for it
blind and feeble
in the tinder
of these poems.
i can hear my upstairs neighbor
(a student at drake)
talking on the phone.
she's discussing
a topographical mural
of an italian mountain range
she's constructing
for geology seminar.
she's very earnest
rather excited.
you listen to people
talk about things,
ideas—
as if they were tangible,
irrefragable—
as if everything
wasn't an illusion—
bartered
half-chance
squandered—
a set of spider legs
dangling from the
tortoise's nose.
now she's talking about
finding a church
to take her parents to
when they come down
from minnesota:
"this review says
the presbyterian church
on 42nd
has free fresh baked bread."
i'm not sure why
i lean against the mailboxes
and try my key
in each of them.
the slumlord has gambled
on our lack of curiosity—
my key opens them all.
now then
i've said
too much.
Justin Hyde lives in Iowa where he works with criminals. He has a Web page at http://www.nyqpoets.net/poet/justinhyde. He can be contacted here: jjjjhyde@yahoo.com.
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