THE ALMOST END OF MY NAME
Richard Fein
This is my last chance.
I received my final notice.
A notice of termination in sixty point, red type.
The point is taken.
Find something and order lest:
all future mailings cease,
my account canceled,
my name deleted from that everywhere database,
my mailbox henceforth empty.
This is my last chance.
Thumb the pages.
A personal Shiatsu massager?
No I've got a $1.98 back scratcher for that.
A Fast Track Dual Action Endurance Trainer?
I'm already out of breath.
A 300-Watt Continuous 500 Peak Interphase Dual Outlet Modulator?
Huh?
I'm desperate.
Soon my dreams, aspirations, and hopes
of an eternal influx of all that can be bought with my discretionary dollars,
will drift ever closer to far away,
as each sunrise shortens my future by yet another day.
Salvation!
A genuine imitation bronze replica
of an authentic stainless steel samurai sword.
I picture a dozen disgraced, nameless, Bruce Lee extras baring their navels,
the sharp points ready to redeem their sullied names.
Best of all, it's marked down from $63 to $21.
I act quickly---
My cancellation canceled.
My mailbox a forever cornucopia of consumer goods.
My name rescued from oblivion; I remain in the system.
I won't have to fall on my bargain sword when it arrives COD.
