no saviour and no special grace

 

 

 

what does it matter

i am sitting in my apartment

the bedroom

and looking out the window

at the people going by

and the afternoon meaning nothing

it is summer and it is hot

the people on the street are dying

i can see it from my window

i am looking down and dying too

there is no getting away from it

the mercury topped a hundred yesterday

and will do it again today

where do we hide

the rent is due

so is my bill at morries

morries, the greasy spoon across the street

they know me there

i go in and have a cheeseburg

mustard, tomato, lettuce

a can or two of coke

and then as i go out the door

i say 'hey marg ,

put it on the bill"

and she does

if i have a reading and make a few bucks

i go in and cash my cheque

marg gives me the difference

we get along fine

but

back to the afternoon

 

i can see people walking into morries

and coming out the same

hot and confused

looking for answers

finding none

i can see in the window

an electric fan rotates

slowly

from the counter

beside the bran muffins and butter tarts under glass

and the fan doesn't make any difference

it just moves the hot air around the room

cars drift by the window

for all i know

they are doing nothing

just driving around the few blocks downtown

to make it look like the city isn't dying

a clever plot

masterminded by the mayors and his bandits

they've cut off the welfare

and are giving away gas

to those with cars

"just drive around the downtown core, boys,

make it look like we've still got a chance"

i can hear him growling

he's lying on the floor of his office

the bourbon in one hand and knife in the other

if he was a roman

they'd find him chin deep in the water

crimson bracelets

but he isn't caesar and this isn't rome

so i'm stuck on the top floor looking down

and what does it matter

 

the only store on the street

doing any business

is the sally ann

suits with one pair of pants for three dollars

books by the pound

it used to be only the broke

with holes in their shoes

would wander in the door

but not anymore

there is no pride left

there is nothing left

nothing

if i had an egg

i could cook it on the danger high voltage sidewalk

and if i had some bacon

hell, if i had some bacon

you know, the long green

i wouldn't be sitting in the window

i'd be over at the king's

watching one of the ladies

back dancing and giving it away

sipping one of those long cool shots

and listening to the back music

while someone else's princess stood up there

she'd be wrapped in red

or something

and she'd be taking it off

but it doesn't matter

because i can hear them knocking

at the door

and they are coming for me

it doesn't even matter who they are

i've got the furniture piled against the door

 

if they want me

they can come in the windows

or come through the roof

and until they do

there is the street

with the cars drifting past

they come from somewhere

and go somewhere else

and all the time

they are nowhere

i watch the people go by

sometimes they'll be pretty women or a handsome man

it doesn't matter

they are all doomed

they just have further to fall

maybe that's it

the wisdom of poverty

when the boom comes down the poor have nowhere to fall

they are already there

they lose so little

you don't miss what you never had

i can see it

the old women with plastic bags full of their histories

they will survive

if only from habit

but what of the beauty shop queens

who spend tuesdays at the club

when the club closes the doors

and they have nothing left

but to walk by my window

what will they do

i see them now

 

as they will be soon

screaming on the street

and pulling their hair

their men will be weak things

crying and pulling at their teeth

there will be no saviour

and no special grace

the end will come

as quickly and as surely

as the noon explosion

of the engine of sixty-three pontiac

pushed to the limit

just once too often

and i'll watch it

the engine blowing on the street below

marg will serve coffee to the bystanders

there will be blood and gasoline

on the blacktop

the heat melting them to one

and it will be a sign

the stores will close their doors

 

 

 

Copyright © michael dennis / South Western Ontario Poetry 1983

 

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