Dole Queue

by Michael Hulse
Tom Paine at one time made
ladies’ corsets. And why not? I too had
a job once, I remember, on
an assembly line.

Seems a long time ago.

Every fucking Monday I stand here , grow
grey-faced, slack; I slouch. What do I
care about the law,

ain’t got the power? said

Cornelius Vanderbilt. Went to bed
last night, the wife says, common sense
doesn’t stand a chance

when you’re up against profit,

I says to her, you don’t want to say that
too loud, can we have the light off
now? It’s a rip off,

she says, the whole caper.

See what it said today in the paper?
Go to sleep, Glad, I says. Tom Paine,
refused a seat on

the stagecoach, was told by

the passengers to fear the Lord’s wrath. I
wonder at times what has become
of justice if some
 can buy their own. I won’t
pretend to understand the world. I don’t.
One night we sat and watched the stars,
listened to the cars

on the carriageway back

of our house. The stars were bright, the night black.
Why, says Glad, are we landed with
a life before death?