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Poems by Lewis Goldfarb


Saturday Night Manifesto

The old man down the road from me
Years ago had a plan to raise
Exotic meats in his fields.
Ostriches were born, bread, and died
On his plantation of cuisine;
Sweetmeats sold to an elegant venue.
Animal rights activists, in time,
Prosecuted to their fullest extent
Leaving him with a herd of yaks
That by a court order must be
Kept alive till their death
By, and only by, natural causes.

I have grown accustomed to biding bits of my time
Sitting in this field, surrounded by the lethargic beasts
I smoke my cigarettes, drink my wine, let the world
Wash over me before becoming a dawn.
This is where I first saw the apparatus in use,
It's mechanical grinding attracting my hairy friends in the same way
That animal instincts lured me closer to the fold.
A cherry-picker type of crane, much like I had seen
Used in galleria mall parking lots, was erected here
A shimmering tower of hydraulics and steel
Hitched to a pick-up in the middle of the herd.
Approaching now, I took a deep drink of wine,
And the mysterious manifestation began to lower itself
To the ground, exciting me a bit, but leaving the yaks
In their continual state of boredom.

A man was standing in the basket, safety cord attached,
Staring at me with a look of bewilderment,
The mirror image of my own startled surprise.
He was surrounded by boxes of gigantic
White Christmas tree lights along with
A few of the clear fuses that tend to be
The candy called excitement during that time of year.
Silence greeted us when the machination came to halt
While the yaks shuffled and chewed their cud.
I lit a cigarette, not too sure of etiquette at this point
As he recited what seemed to be either a rant or
A drawn out mantra, obviously prepared
For an occasion just like this:

"I am the one they called the wondering Jew,
biding my time walking this world till the time
Of Christ's second coming.
Mortal at the heart, I got bored
And petitioned GOD for a part time job.
Now he's got me doing this.
I go from here to there with a cherry picker
Hitched to a pickup truck
And change out dim stars like blown light-bulbs."

The herd continued to graze, as I turned myself around
To follow the rise of the Sunday morning sun,
tired from the drink, exhausted by the sights,
Feeling sure that all was right till
In passing a church, just beginning its fund drive
An old woman parked her car in a space marked
'Reserved'
And used her key-chain device to lock the car
And turn on the security alarm;

I slept all that day questioning faith.



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Biographical sketch: I am Lewis Goldfarb.

Lewis Goldfarb recommends:

Mockingbird Wish Me Luck by C. Bukowski
Reason: It can't be explained in English.

Get Mockingbird Wish Me Luck
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