Frank Sloan

all the talk

A curious, languid and cloudy evening, Pilgrim; small children
squeal with delight in the vacant lot next door.  I find nothing
on television that won’t turn my stomach.  I’m fear I’m feeling
my age and I no longer understand or relate to the pop currents.
I fear I’d look the perfect fool if I tried. 
But, Pilgrim, I tell you sadly; my country looks twisted and unrecognizable.
My neighbor looks bewildered because he’s losing his home of twenty years.
My co-worker looks defeated because he can’t afford insurance for his first born. 
My mother looks terrified because miles of red tape block her new medication.
My sister’s kids look ready to shove a butcher knife into my heart.
And all the talk in the capital revolves around improving the business climate.
And all the talk in the church revolves around claiming new territory for Christ.
And all the talk in the “underground” press revolves around crowning the next Bukowski

learning and earning

A guy attends night school.
He expects education to change his life.
The big-wigs sold him that fable from the day of his birth.
 
Our guy sweats and cusses over the books for two years.
The cost of tuition eats a big chunk of his family budget.
The obscene cost of his text books obliterate his resources. 
The cost of gasoline for the drive back and forth
gnaws pitilessly at his desire and his resolve.
 
Then our guy discovers starting wages in the field 
he pursues with such doggedness 
amount to little more than what he already earns 
despite everything the college propaganda brochure alleges.
 
His better life disappears in a flash, along with his faith.
The bitter heart of our new age reveals itself;
and the harsh admonition he heard over and over
as a child floods back to haunt him,
“you act like the world owes you a living!”

other than strings

How long has it been, Pilgrim; 
since America felt inspired to people who struggle to pay their heating bills,
since America felt joyous to people who stock the shelves in her superstores,
                                  to people who drive the taxis across her crumbling bridges, 
                                  to people who deliver the paper in her paperless economy? 
 
How long has it been, Pilgrim;
since America opened her posh resorts and her sky boxes to people 
                                  who earn their paycheck with their sweat,
                                  who bend until they ache and stretch until they collapse, 
                                  who lift things and pull things (other than strings)?
 
How long has it been 
since America felt safe and welcoming and big enough to love us all,
since America felt classless and innovative and miraculous?

unhelpful

An inmate died of a heart attack at the work release facility.
Pilgrim, staff stood by and let it happen.
They assumed he was faking.
 
A callousness and hardness infects every one of us. 
We can’t escape the system we’ve created.
 
The inmate had a name and a family and a release date.
The officer they fired for his role in the death
 had a family and a future.
 
About the same future all of us have,
work harder, earn less, worry more and keep your tears to yourself;
            above all else, keep those “unhelpful” tears to yourself.

world capabilities

Another miniature Buddha found his way to the shack, Pilgrim,
all the way from a Wichita trinket shop.
Silly thing arrived wrapped in a popcorn bag.
We held a ceremony to welcome him;
chanted a few words, downed some bargain brand soda pop.
We couldn’t wait to see if he glowed in the dark.  He did and we were delighted.
 
Too bad the storms of brutal economic upheaval
threaten to wipe away our simple existence.
Our new guide appears rather puny in the face of that kind of disaster.
 
We need a stronger Buddha.
We need a Buddha equipped with flashing lights and powerful sirens.
We need a Buddha outfitted with the latest rescue apparatus.
We need a Buddha with tough world capabilities. 

BIO:

Frank Sloan lives and writes in a small shack near the heart of 
the empire.  Despite all evidence to the contrary; he believes 
it’s a heart that merits salvation.

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