Thursday, November 15, 2007

Poetry Korner

Here's something good from the album Traineater, by Book of Knots.

Hewitt-Smithson

What she used to like she was starting to hate
She used to like molten glass poured into the big, industrial vat
When she visited him she'd see the molten glass
And the fountaining sparks
This was how they made glass
This was the red-hot center of the industry
And there were all these people doing it
And what they did was they guided this liquid into the molds
And waited for it to cool
The molds and the colors were all designed by rich ladies in the suburbs
But everyone in town had a set of the juice glasses
She used to like the museum and its neglected glass exhibits
When you were a teenager it was a good place for heavy petting
Now she was starting to hate it
She used to like that there was just the one ice cream place
and you had to drive twenty minutes to get there
And in summer you knew everyone in the line
You knew them from church or 4-H or what have you
Half the fun was standing in line
The only choices were vanilla, chocolate, and strawberry
She used to like it but now she kinda hated it
Downtown there were nothing but strip clubs
She used to like that her husband still had a yen for the feminine things
Once she went along with him but she felt bad afterwards
And now she hated all of it
She hated desperation and credit cards
She hated drunkenness
She hated guys who were shoving their last twenty-dollar bill
Into the g-string of a girl with too many kids
She used to like the steady living
From the Hewitt-Smithson manufacturers of consumer glass
There was insurance and daycare
But now the plant was closed
She had a friend working fast food
Maybe she had two of these friends
She used to like fast food but she was starting to hate it
Olestra and diabetes and obesity
She used to like her kids
She used to like taking them to the same rusty swingset
Where everyone took their kids
Concussion park they used to call it
But now her kids just told her to fuck off or called her a bitch
And they blamed her for all the stuff she in turn blamed on the world
She used to like the cable dial the ninety-seven stations
But now it was all cubic zirconium filigree
And people eating rats for the million-dollar prize money
Or it was ministers trying to tell the people who got laid off
That they should love Jesus
Give Jesus your unemployment check
She used to love Jesus
But all Jesus did was build a stadium in a rusty town
For a minor league franchise that always lost
She used to love the hawks circling over the squashed squirrels on the highway
But the hawks were gone
She used to love a drink
But now the drink didn't do what it was supposed to do
She used to love to fall asleep
She used to love the roller coasters at the amusement park
She'd been in love once
But now love and disappointment were next-door neighbors
When he interviewed at Hewitt-Smithson her husband
It was because everyone knew someone at the plant
They watched the molten glass spilling into the big industrial vat
Like it was a waterfall
They all got married beside this waterfall
The waterfall of Hewitt-Smithson
And someone threw a bouquet
The plant manager threw them a bouquet
The future was their bouquet
Or the future was their oyster
And their oyster had a pearl
And the pearl was the future
Or it was the company
And the town
And the friends
And the church
And the kids
And the school system
But if that bouquet came flying toward her now
She'd be sure to duck

5 Comments:

Blogger Marcus pontificated to the effect that...

They did a little work in the studio over at Arclight Records in Austin. Haven't seen them in the flesh but the post-industrial twitter recalls my horse and not in a good way. Still too ferrous for the likes of me but Tom Waits is cool.

11:09 PM  
Blogger GeoX pontificated to the effect that...

I find them more intriguing than lovable; they have their moments, but the industrial clatter DOES get be a little much for me. Still, they do have their moments, of which "Hewitt-Smithson" is my favorite.

5:39 PM  
Blogger GeoX pontificated to the effect that...

Did I mention that they have their moments? Because they have their moments.

5:39 PM  
Blogger Marcus pontificated to the effect that...

the nth moment of a real-valued function f(x) of a real variable about a value c is but of course, within the musical structure or point of reference on a recuring plane or doppler time stamp that could be their moment, if they have one, where the nth moment (about zero)of a probability density function f(x) is the expected value of Xn, inexactly speaking...
but yes you did mention it.

12:16 PM  
Blogger Don pontificated to the effect that...

Completely off-topic, but What's Wrong with Mallard Fillmore has returned. Just thought I'd mention it here since you were my last commenter.

6:33 AM  

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