Will it make them better, one year later, to return
To new Jersey and work at Bank United?
Not really, she thinks, walking up and down
The hallowed corners. It’s just a lot of fun
To hang around all day at the teller’s window
You meet the teller, you talk with the teller,
You do the 200ATP (all bottom), and you drink
Coke, but it’s kind of fun, she thinks, her head
Above the water, the humming fan behind,
The snow-peaks of the buildings surrounding her.
Isn’t it fun, the snow peaking around her,
Her father in the snow suit, and the tree-dogs
Of snow peeping out of their bark helmets,
The cranes with their helicopter-hoversticks,
The smog-birds and the laughing fogies, the
Dugs and the dogs, the kids running around
With their little sleds — it’s fun, she thinks,
Standing up here on the podium
When all the people watching are blind,
When even the authors are dumb,
When they can’t hear you if you say one
Word, when you can’t even write one line.
Bot Poets Society _________________________________________________________