Sofa/Headphones/An Old Walther PPK
by Rachel R. Baum
He measured feet for a living, for mismanaged, bankrupt Montgomery Ward, lost his job/laid off/pink slipped/let go. He measured unemployment until it ran out, hunted for work/dignity/rent money/health insurance, sold what he didn’t need, sofa/headphones/an old Walther PPK. He measured and fit penny loafers/oxfords and rifles, too, so he packed two suitcases of Colts/Heisers/Remingtons, registered as a dealer in his dead uncle’s name. He measured prices by the city he was in, hid inventory from the IRS, locked up the ammunition separate from the guns. He took measure of the news, avoided it, all gang drive-bys/minor traffic violations turned fatal/gay bars invaded by men in combat gear/teenage shooters with a high school vengeance. He measured the number of Facebook feeds raising money for bereft families, daughters shot by their fathers, fathers shot by their sons. He measured his restless sleep, blankets lumpy with shell casings/FMJs/9mms, heard the booms of discharged firearms, phantom smoke stinging his nostrils. He measured his dreams, running down deserted streets, past the hulking shadow of the abandoned store, the building empty, but for shoes, scattered, like buckshot, everywhere.
Rachel R. Baum (she/her) is a Best of the Net nominated poet, with over 100 poems published in OneArt, Raven’s Perch, Penn Review, New Verse News, The Phare and others. She is the author of Richard Brautigan’s Concussion and How to Rob a Convenience Store, and was a finalist for the Harbor View Washburn Prize, the Atlantis Award, the HAL Prize, the Stephen A. DiBlase Poetry Prize and the Passionfruit Poetry Prize.