Wednesday, December 3, 2008

Captive Audience

Share it Please
Let off a bus to break a long journey,
we sit round long tables in an old hall,
drink coffee and wine, eat croissants.
We cannot escape. A man offers us
free porcelain dolls and lectures about
how unhealthy our surrounding are.

Mites he says burrow through our bodies,
radiation emanating from microwaves and
cell phones damages our hormones,
turns us into mutants.
The voice becomes a mosquito droning
round our ears as he preaches about
dogs turning round three times before
settling down, wet noses facing north,
tails facing south because of magnetic fields.
Some eyes glaze over.  After all, passengers
up since half past five are sleep deprived.
Others feign weak bladders to flee the
verbal bombardment.
The sun outside teases.  It's warm rays flirt
with surrounding mountains.  We look
gloomily from our uninspiring quarters,
banished from the joys of spring by
some unspoken commitment.
"I need one now," Bessie holler like
someone possessed by the Holy Ghost and
buys a magnetic mattress she does not want.
She just wants the voice to stop so she does not
pull out her gun and shoot him, just so she does not
strangle him with her bare hands.
Others netted by the talk, how two hours long,
have been persuaded they need mattresses
with magnets, cashmere pillows, and washable
duvets warm on one side, cool on the other.
Converts march up, convinced that life
without these things is no longer fathomable.
The salesman leafs through freshly inked contracts,
counts his cash, smugly dreams up the time and
place for another sales pitch and the next captive audience.
(c) May, 2004.

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