Zero and the Anti-Dollar

Zero and the Anti-Dollar

Doing nothing at all, Zero sat 

Gaping at TV, his last lone dollar 

Crumpled inside a small itchy palm. 

The news had begun. War shot through the air 

Like blood. 

Virulent statistics stirred

His insides like poison. 

The dollar sweated in his hand; 

It thickened his veins with potential. 

Looking out Zero saw a V-sign

Projected on the night sky. 

He locked the window, 

Shut the blind. 

On his face he chalked 

A mask of desperation to hide his apathy 

And kept a sharp eye 

On a gun case containing a remote control

and two spare batteries. 

Midnight the doorbell rang twice: 

One — a man from the government

Collecting names like debts. 

Two — another man with a lacquered smile 

Selling war bonds. 

Zero slammed the door, raised his dollar 

To the light and saw the face

Of a tight-a$$ god staring back. 

The dollar fluttered to the floor with a bang. 

Next morning he awoke. 

The air was caked with signals 

From a CNN broadcast. 

“The rapid advance on the capital

Is incredible progress,” 

Said a voice that wasn’t a voice at all —

Just enthusiastic circuitry.

Zero held the dollar to the mirror. 

Its image was something other 

Than itself. 

He consumed it hungrily, 

Swallowing the last of his illusions, 

And sat down, dissatisfied. 

There was nothing doing on TV 

So he terminated it with a fist. 

The poison was wearing off.