Wednesday, September 14, 2011
Sunday, September 11, 2011
HE TOOK A CAB
My new book HE TOOK A CAB is finally out and for sale!
This book was beautifully put together by Raymond Hammond and the others at New York Quarterly Press. It's 108 pages of my best poetry, much of which takes for its subjects the world of cab driving and the streets of Tucson. There are some other poems which are purely lyrical and I am proud as hell of this book. It's also got one of my drawings on the cover. Buy it you won't be sorry.
I will be posting reviews as I can manage to get them. If anyone would like to review this book, contact me please.
HE TOOK A CAB
Tuesday, September 6, 2011
Monday, September 5, 2011
Tuesday, August 30, 2011
Friday, August 26, 2011
GENERAL REVENUE CORPORATION
This poem was published in the latest Main Street Rag:
GENERAL REVENUE CORPORATION
I used to work for a collection agency
so I know: you invent a code name
and sit at a desk with a headset and dial
hundreds of telephone numbers each day
to try to find people and convince them
to pay old defaulted bills plus interest.
My technique was to lever on their
loved ones, religion, to come down hard
on morality, duty, guilt, etc. Anyway,
now it’s years later and some collector
who calls himself “Eric” has been looking
for me. He phoned my boss. I called him back.
“You found me, Eric,” I said, “you’ve
earned your seven bucks an hour.” “I
try,” he said. He was a laid back, good-cop
kind of guy, a pal, a technique I never
cared for. It was an old loan: eight grand.
“I’ll pay you 25 bucks a month,” I said.
“200 is as low as it goes,” he said. “Sure,
Eric,” I said, “I’ll give you 50 dollars
a month.” “150,” he said, “Now I’m already
breaking policy.” “85,” I said. “Let me
talk to my supervisor,” he said. “By the
way,” I said, “how’d you find me?” “I
Googled you,” he said, “I found out you
were a writer and a taxi driver in Tucson,
then I called all the taxi companies.”
“Pretty good,” I said. “Thank you,” he said.
“By the way,” I said, “I don’t make a penny
for the writings.” “Don’t worry,” he said,
“I believe you.” There was a small silence
before he put me on hold so he could
go talk to his stupid supervisor.
GENERAL REVENUE CORPORATION
I used to work for a collection agency
so I know: you invent a code name
and sit at a desk with a headset and dial
hundreds of telephone numbers each day
to try to find people and convince them
to pay old defaulted bills plus interest.
My technique was to lever on their
loved ones, religion, to come down hard
on morality, duty, guilt, etc. Anyway,
now it’s years later and some collector
who calls himself “Eric” has been looking
for me. He phoned my boss. I called him back.
“You found me, Eric,” I said, “you’ve
earned your seven bucks an hour.” “I
try,” he said. He was a laid back, good-cop
kind of guy, a pal, a technique I never
cared for. It was an old loan: eight grand.
“I’ll pay you 25 bucks a month,” I said.
“200 is as low as it goes,” he said. “Sure,
Eric,” I said, “I’ll give you 50 dollars
a month.” “150,” he said, “Now I’m already
breaking policy.” “85,” I said. “Let me
talk to my supervisor,” he said. “By the
way,” I said, “how’d you find me?” “I
Googled you,” he said, “I found out you
were a writer and a taxi driver in Tucson,
then I called all the taxi companies.”
“Pretty good,” I said. “Thank you,” he said.
“By the way,” I said, “I don’t make a penny
for the writings.” “Don’t worry,” he said,
“I believe you.” There was a small silence
before he put me on hold so he could
go talk to his stupid supervisor.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)