© 2007-2008 John Thornburg
From the upcoming book of poetry “Brillo Pads at Midnight”
Twenty Four Eight*
What if I need Brillo pads at midnight?
The sink looks like Hiroshima
and the air feels like a spider web sprayed with grease?
Thank heaven for 7-11.
Donuts at night; hot dogs in the morning,
and Brillo twenty-four seven.
Don’t need to comb my hair.
Don’t even need to wear a hat.
Day and night don’t matter there.
That’s good, ’cause I might need money.
The morning paper-mobile driver might stop
and demand cash.
Might need some Unguentine
or a Bud,
or some Tic-Tacs.
Twenty-four seven.
That’s my world.
The lights don’t go off.
You can get gas.
Deposit your check.
Drop the video in the slot.
CNN’s covering insecticides
and SUVs.
There’s a ball game from 1974 on.
And some preacher talking about eternal life.
Eternal life.
The preacher says it’s beyond this life.
God, that must mean it’s twenty-four eight.