Dollar Bill

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Dollar Bill

by Michael Chitwood
Southern Cultures, Vol. 9, No. 2: Summer 2003

"Outside, in the parking lot, sparrows bathe in the dust. Empires rise and fall. He'll notice and say nothing of it on the air.""

Small-town AM station,

morning show,

still doing a gospel number every hour.

Who’s listening?

Bacon tenders, baby sitters.

He yucks it up for the insurance office crew,

the stop-in, mini-mart gas shacks.

He’s on the counter at The Hub,

talking coffee cups up and down.

A clown, a daily goofball,

regular as sunup and death,

he reads the obits from the local paper

and sometimes adds a personal note.

Even the disembodied here have an anecdote.

Dashboard and countertop,

new tunes and same old same old,

beer on sale, car tires, paint,

link sausage, the grind and groove

of tune. We’re coming up on noon.

Outside, in the parking lot, sparrows bathe

in the dust. Empires rise and fall. He’ll notice

and say nothing of it on the air.

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