what if the
is a slave planet
and the 1%
are in all
in dark harmony to the
pollution of the climate
whatever happened to that
lovely Sunday picnic afternoon
I pour myself a cup of water
from the carafe
set behind the bowl of
Somebody online snatched my magnetism and code. However, the well-groomed 20something at the bank assures me I am in good hands. He says, I’m not planning to protect the President or anything – actually, I only fantasize about life as an ordinary Secret Service adjunct – the guy who catches the bastards who rob people electronically! In emphasis, he lifts an eyebrow. I notice a slight tic. He compares his path to that of a disciplined dog laying in wait for the wolf, the executioner of sheep. He told me that a motivated person can easily lift heat signatures off ATM machines using an iPhone 6. I imagine my life as a cyborg. Cracking metallic knuckles. In my own best interests I changed my PIN # for the first time in over a decade.
WITH THE TITLE ON THE LINE
not young but not dead
not unlike the raven or
a bottle of single-malt Macallan or
the lightning speed of consummation
reminds me of either ESP
or rivers surging, the welcome violence
of a rainstorm.
so I pick away at tufts of consciousness,
half expecting a squirrel or titmouse
grinning in the diminutive manner
of teeming, black-eyed, other-worldly intellect
to offer some redemption
for so obviously being human.
Jay Passer was first published by Caliban magazine in 1988. Since then his work has appeared in print and online in scores of publications spanning the globe. He’s authored 8 chapbooks and appeared in several anthologies. His most current collection is featured in The High Window Press’s Four American Poets of 2016. Jay holds a degree in Culinary Arts, and has worked in the service industry for 30+ years as: barista, soda jerk, line cook, pizza maker, and sous chef. Passer lives and works in San Francisco, the city of his birth.