I work the graveyard shift in ‘67
Stock shelves of “Marlboro Country”
For California slickers, tubes of
Ultra Brite “sex appeal”
Brushed by grim oldsters,
And Olympia, “it’s the water”
For partying young adults;
Shallow worded images
I close the flashy cooler,
Pick up the empty card boxes,
Crumple and dump them in the trash bin;
Across the street a Texaco filling station
Slogans forth rusted, “Trust your car to the man
Who wears the star,” but its “vacant for lease” sign
Came from the only auto to ford
Shallow worded perception
I lean on a metal stool behind
The counter, no customers; it's past
The midnight hour; so I
Close my tired eyes,
Rub my warm forehead,
The feel of bone so arched like a vault,
My skull under skin
Almost Neanderthal,
Shallow image wordedness
And my sense of self in that inner cave
Of stored memories, procedures and ads;
What will be left in the finite end?
Suddenly like a lighted tidal wave
Overwhelming self and night,
Wide a w a r e n e s s
Oceans deep—
Infinite vivid reception—awash
In-G-immersed-O-in-D
In the Light,
Daniel Wilcox
First published in Word Catalyst Magazine,
also in poetry collection, Psalms, Yawps, and Howls
