March 1, 2010

Poem’s Commodity Fetish

in the reading
room or ancient tomb Poem
dreams of a well-wrought
yearning for something

more stylish or tricky
to show your friends or
ad lib in front of a modest
audience in that quiet café downtown

although at the time Poem
was disappointed with her purchase:
the seams hasty, the graphics
uninspired, an oily flavour . . .

sometimes the transaction is meant
to frustrate, like a rebellious
daughter or mid-life crisis tattoo

the text of which Poem now
carries on her left thigh high
enough to be her own

I can’t tell what is
there and there is no use

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