PHILIP FRIED
······················

 

At Hand


In the Domesday Book the wolves were summoning
The sheep to judgment, inscribing each piece of England
On sheepskin parchment, in red for headings, corrections,
Black for land, buildings, and chattel, each manor and barn,
Every hen was scratched in, every cock-
-a-doodle-doo attested and sworn to. 

Today the notaries seem scarce as quills—
One or two peek from behind reams of 20-
Wt. bond at stationers’, or walk out, blinking,
Hoover in hand, from the backrooms of mom & pop
Vacuum repair shops. Mr. Grossman (who tends
the “dragon” that snorts in hair, animal dander,
dust mites) counters with sly courtesy,
“No, we’re around, but we’re not where we should be.”
So, Gentil Knight . . .
                                      In the backroom called the Past,
one unnamed scribe, his fingers gripping the left
Wing feather of a goose, which was also the king’s
Property, moves the right hand he holds in fief
Across the parchment, which once clothed royal sheep,
Recording in juices from the king’s plants
Every item encircled by the crown
(a king is all metonymy and commands
encomiums issuing from the lips or pen
that the sword is mightier than).
                                                                Yesterday’s quaint.
Today we’re all conquerors, free to move everywhichway,
No constraint. Free to attend the hootenanny
In the theme park of Arden, warble off-tune and thrum
A chord for justice.
                                       Free to roam the keyboard,
Prairie of symbols, riding the knuckles of “I,”
The fingertips that kiss the letters and numbers
Of desire: I input, I click, I drag, I frolic
In the puddle one-inch deep and a planet wide. 

Tomorrow’s the care of the State, which is avant garde:
In Liberty’s bug-free, high-tech situation
Room, the oldest tool—hand with opposable thumb,
Heirloom from Olduvai—hovers as a hologram,
Anonymous index finger aimed at the naked
World, which is vertical, glowing, large scale, with zones
That soon will thrill to feel the digits of Freedom.

 

Click to hear the author read this poem