Caged Domicile
Pawnshop Midas
they call him
Born of the bottom line
where a house of cards seduction
spreads naked its adorned windows.
Trumpet
Drum
Toaster
Gun
Tags tied securely
like morgue slab identities
yesterday’s prices crossed out
today’s prices urged Fineto.
Behind counter
man and possessions
awaits swing of the door.
Tinkle bell striking.
Announcement of sellers
new members from
Hardships’ Recruitment Patrol
determined to be tagged.
Pawnshop Midas
they call him
staring vacuously
as unlucky minions trudge onward
along desperation’s super-highway
entering today’s station
willing to kneel even lower
‘til
‘til reaching
that Somewhere
that Piñata-hope of survival
that reward seemingly just out of reach
breath awaits permission.
Lowering reflective eyes
the sidewalk soul relents
occasion’s original cost collides
with memory about to vanish.
Thrust forward.
Clutched tightly.
Life’s cookie-jar treasures
family decorations
today’s looms sans heir
breathes another time once more
whispering survivor’s rules of engagement
squeeze
twist
hammer
melt.
Eyes meet.
The plea.
“To feed the belly,” Mr. Nazerman.
“Cover the body
"Stay alive.
”
Mr Nazerman's echo
“One dollar.”
"But…"
silence...
“One dollar.”
Reflecting on Sidney Lumet’s incredible cinematic succeses, I needed to revisit Lumet’s body of work. In particular, I immersed myself in The Pawnbroker last night, finding my pen scribing a prosetry vignette.. It was impossible to not flash back at some adventurous times during my early years in NY, when like perhaps a few of you, pawning was a means to put food on the table, and preserve a modicum of self-respect. Of course, there were all kinds of life-brokers, tempting me later as I immersed myself in a graduate degree of sorts offered by Hollywood. Thank doG it has become a distance-study exercise now.(Image by Odin AI)
Never been in a pawn shop. Although my cousin's husband told me that he got all his tools from pawn shops. I didn't want to be tempted.
The closest I came was out of gas halfway home, trading my electric alarm clock for two dollars worth of gas, so I could get home with nothing left in my pocket.
Two weeks later on my way to my brother's wedding, I stopped and gave the gasoline station owner the two bucks and retrieved by electric alarm clock.
Ron