woman
mumbling madly to
herself over
her company books at
Cafe International sucking
up death from her
Camel while making
figures of death in her
notebook with

the hysterical music rocking
from the speaker to
give her the illusion of
being alive & that she
transcends
her accounts which of course
she doesn’t (too
immersed in her calculations to
be anything other) as

the desperate young
counter girl races
around getting the
orders/ tending the
oven/ washing the
dishes for
no other reason than her
$5.00/hr as

two leather jackets chain
smoke themselves to death to
still the pain of returning to
the warehouse to
put in their day to get
their pay &

the woman with child feeds
him his bottle while
dreaming
of the money, money, money for
his special medicine &
a new car &
other basics like
food &
paying the rent as

the pretty blonde needs
money for cosmetics &

the old man needs
money for his teeth &

the little girl needs
money for her new toy &

the older boy needs
money for a baseball glove &

the student needs
money for books . . . when

God
enters Cafe International as
a big dollar bill &
everybody shrieks with joy &
falls to his knees as
God goes to the counter &
orders a decaf &
somebody wails

          “God, you’ve made it at last!
          Gimme! Gimme! Gimme!”

& God says

          “Fuck off! I’m
          keeping it for myself just
          like you would!”

&
as he walks out the door all
the people collapse &
weep over their
emptiness