Scarecrow Calls Out the Man

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Scarecrow Calls Out the Man

These things I cannot name: that finger of night
between fear and peace, in which darkness both cloaks
and hugs the wide-eyed. A snake, in the open. And that space
behind the watcher? Perhaps it is easier to call it something
else – a gasp, or the immeasurable measure. A presidential
folly. My friends, ever cautious, swoop in and away, taking
with them only those grains they need, unlike you. What use
is a hoarded larder if it rots? How does one come to want
everything and nothing at the same time? A gilded house
spotlights wealth, not right. Is this edifice your legacy,
your monument to self? The heart monitor’s blip paints one
forever, your pursed lips, another. But even the concrete
you cringe behind lacks permanency; regard your hands
and all they can’t stuff into your pockets. Loosen that
coiled tie lest it choke you. Accept what the mirror sees,
and await karma. Though you will not hear my voice,
I offer this: may the combined weight of your lies and
larcenies, your unpaid debts and power plays, rapes,
casual racism, privilege and coarse, childish taunts, merge
into one fist-size bankroll placed upon your chest, and
fueled by the gravitational forces of forty-four black holes,
slowly, with each turn of the earth’s axis, press down and
down and down in search of that shriveled organ, and finding
it, pluck out and replace it with one resembling that of a
genuine human, one honoring respect and love, empathy
and humility. I am the sum of integrated, discarded
pieces assembled to observe and warn, collecting only
diminishment and the means to become less. Wanting
little, the world welcomes me. It arrives free, honest, on
wings, bringing wealth beyond your reach, your greed.
I own nothing. I know nothing. But this: I name you
Scourge, and laugh at the smallness of you. I name you
Farce. I name you Empty. I name you Gone.

 

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“Scarecrow Calls Out the Man” first appeared on Vox Populi in August 2017.

 

31 thoughts on “Scarecrow Calls Out the Man”

          • Well, the jobs economy is always a dark, treacherous sea for the fine artist, as people seem to think we have no transferable skills no matter what our resume says. But be ye not afraid… all the greats struggled like crazy just to stay afloat in one form or another: financially, emotionally, mentally, physically, etc. And if you are afraid, then write about it. There are a lot of great Okaji poems hidden away inside of your current inability to get paid. There is indeed grace in resistance. It is a northern wind filled with sand, and what remains is smooth and holy.

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            • Weirdness abounds in the jobs economy. I was denied an interview for a writing tutor position…and thus far only one administrative job has granted an interview. Age is likely a factor, though no employer would admit that. It’s almost amusing, because I’m not looking at high-level positions. I just want a job. But in job hunting as in poetry, I am persistent.

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              • Ageism is easy to engage in. People don’t care about that as much as the other isms. The assumption probably is that you will cause more headaches than good, like being 52 is the same as being 92! In my experience the “old” employees are a million times better for a company than any young employee, other than in catching trends. It is like this: a young bull is standing on a hill with an old bull, looking out across a herd of cows. The youngster turns to the old one and says, “hey! Let’s run down there and have sex with with one of those cows.” The old bull replies, “Nope. Let’s walk down there and have sex with all of them.” The old bull is better for the future of the company (increasing production): patient, strategic, efficient, stoic, experienced, etc. You can exchange the bulls for cows and the old cow will still be taking a more productive approach to the company (yet again increasing the chance of producing more bovines).

                In the end, if these companies don’t want to hire you then it is 100% their loss. Especially if they don’t hire you as a writing tutor! That is like refraining from hiring Picasso as a painting instructor, or J.S. Bach as a music theory teacher. “Sorry, Mr. Jagger, we just don’t think you will be able to teach our son how to be a rock star.” “Sorry Ms. Plath, we have hired someone else to tutor our daughter in creative writing.” LOL!

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