Beam a crack, smirk a simper.
Smitten, smidgeon smile.
Happy faced grin.
Yellow shafts of teeth match the tarnished gold
the late-night infomercial crook calls for you to send him.
“Send me your gold! Whether young or new or old!
Send it to me and you will see the product of your purchase! ”
Portioned paranoia blasts beneath his beams.
He prays his newsman partner won’t beam you any good news.
“The DOW is up and rising, all you’ve to worry on is the flu! ”
Hurry! Hurry!
Send it in!
Send that 24 karat cross.
The ugly one Aunt Avis sent,
the one you said you’d lost.
Send in those earrings, you know,
the ones you bought to match your shoes.
Send that bracelet grandma gave
(before she gave way to her old age.)
Hurry! Hurry!
Send it in!
That promised paycheck might cover this month’s mortgage.
Or maybe a minimum plastic payment on those earrings, you know,
the ones you bought to match your shoes.
Send it! Send it quickly!
While your infomercial savior equivocates the fudge-
marooned, remaining, left behind-
from his spewing of stratagem shit
to you spook sponges stewing contentedly
in the comfortable soup on the sneering couch’s corner.