Anything, Anywhere, Anytime

Yvette A. Schnoeker-Shorb

A poor passenger, I’m not

inspired by this window view,

hills, rivers, pastures, cows, flowers,

fields—scenes that will outlast me.

But passing quickly by the glass,

filling the frame, a red and yellow

wall with thick, bold, black words,

Anything, Anywhere, Anytime,

appeals to us bored mortals

living life in the slow lane,

inconvenienced by transition,

ultimately by death. Now that’s

a message inclined to capture

my immediate interest; it is

the hopeful promise of control

at my fingertips, the consoling

pledge that before the downward

edge of my existence, all the needs

of my brief and fragile lifespan

can be fulfilled by my very will.

It’s all mine—anything I want,

anywhere, anytime. Whatever

the actual cargo carried and aside

from solicitous slogans, the sign

gracing the side of that truck

racing by is the first thing

on the road I’ve seen all day

on which my attention is sold.




Nonfiction
Poetry
Fiction