Stosh Machek,
US
*santos de la
maquina del gumball
*(gumball
machine saints)
at the computer store
w/ the retro, 50’s sci-fi, ‘aliens-have-landed’ decorating
motif,
he was almost out the door
when he was ambushed by a bank of impulse buy
bubble-gum machines
...here was the usual fake-ass grape, & sour apple jaw breakers,
some knock-off skittles, ironic counterfeit bling,
& cheap chinese superballs,
but, one machine on the end, grabbed him
...on a backdrop of lurid icon colors,
stone black O.G. tattoo script reads;
‘SANTOS’
...& there they were:
the gumball machine saints
...a display of a dozen, mexican-flavored-catholic saints
...waiting patiently in their plastic bubbles,
for him to go thru his pockets
& find his quarters
...he noted that they were about as big as bullets,
& badly painted,
...as he stuck the coins in the slots, & turned the crank,
he thought of those who never took refuge, or sought salvation
from the blood of spear wounds collected in grails
& turned into wine & back to blood again,
those who only ever looked upon sculpted rugged crosses,
& sunshine blasting halos thru stained glass,
while seeking explanations the brain wouldn’t choke on,
& he thought;
‘50cents a saint,
seems reasonable’
...so he got 2
...then walking thru the electric door, juggling his change,
his purchases, & his newly bought injection molded relics,
he dropped a dime,
& it rolled synchronisticaly across the sidewalk,
& stopped in front of a brother all dressed in white,
w/ a clerical collar,
collecting for the choir;
spare change in a can
...& he let slip out loud;
‘well, if that ain’t a sign from above...’
...& becuz the brother heard him, he felt he hadda
put a penitent dollar in the can for his irreverence,
which he did, becuz of, & in spite of those
truths,
the ones which we can take a bite of, & also those, that,
like church bells, resonate long after we stop hearing,
...long after we’ve stopped listening