Ode to the Infomercial
On the couch beneath a transparent blanket
of a glowing blue light, I heed the pitch
imploring me to forget everything I know
about opening jars and to imagine this new world
where the distance between me and the perfect sandwich
is not barricaded by a pickle jar’s invisible tension
and my inadequate grip. It’s 3 a.m., but
who am I to sleep through the revolution
where a pill can afford me 6 pack abs? Where
pasta and ice cream are no match for the uprising.
My hair was once a lost cause circling the drain
of irreparable age, but now it can be regrown.
I am naked and hypnotized by the earnest testimonies
of people who, just like me, are trying at all costs
to make their lives just a little more livable.
People who want nothing more than a touch
of dignity. Our closets will be orderly.
Our carrots will be perfectly julienned.
For three easy installments of $9.99,
we’ll live our lives as we’ve seen on TV.
The Museum of Revisionist History
Gen. George Washington crosses the Delaware River
on Christmas Day. Snow has collected on his shoulders
as he points through the fog toward a pantry of cereal
boxes standing upright like an encyclopedia set.
Cap’n Crunch, on the back cover, conceals a map
leading the Continental Army to a garrison of discounts. […]
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