I Hear the Bank of America Singing

After Walt Whitman

I will go down to my bank by the river, and make myself
     undisguised and naked –
I am mad to be in contact with my cash, it is for my fingers
     forever, so youthful and crisp I could request a red wine
     vinaigrette to sprinkle upon it!
When I heard the learned investment counselor recite the
     charts and figures, ranging them in a fan formation
     before me, his basso profundo projecting from the orbic
     flex of his mouth, how soon unaccountable I began to consider Linkage,
a long-term low-interest loan, perhaps a business account!
And why not?  I am huge, I possess more presidents than I need – 
     I will freeze them in space and proclaim my Self a corporation!
I will not wait in the maze of velvet ropes, though I have in
     mystic play run my fingers along their plush loveliness.
I instead must move to the head of the business line, and
     hold the virile teller in my manly gaze.
Spending all time, minding no time, while we two chant
     together, O bespectacled investment counselor,
     firmly tucked into handsome pantaloons and collared
     shirt, their aroma of fabric softener finer than prayer.
The sniff of the fresh green carpet is a kind of innocence!
I hear the Bank of America singing, after eating Fleet Bank for
     breakfast, the varied carols of customer service
     representatives I hear, intoning myriad monetary options,
     cheering the freshman customers and summa-cum-laude
     alumni alike – who may complete a brief survey on the sweetness
     of their banking experience, in exchange for a morsel of milk
O Overdraft Protection!  O wise avoidance of insufficient funds!
     In the dusky past, sadly resulting in countless twenty-five
     dollar charges. 
O Captain!  My erect and fertile institution!  I am aching to
     press my flesh against your million billboards, with their
     ecstatic ethnic businesswomen, who eye the EZ-Pass
     swimmers in their muscular Vipers, Lexuses and Beamers.

I, like the late-risen yellow moon sleeping on the
     surface of the sea – I am heavy with love, with love.

David Leo Sirois

David Leo Sirois

David Leo Sirois is a Canadian-American poet published 121 times, in 17 countries. His work has been translated into 12 languages (Hindi, Bengali, Nepali, French, German, Czech, Spanish, Greek, Romanian, Chinese, Turkish, & Doric). He hosts Spoken World Online, the Zoom continuation of SpokenWord Paris. His first collection is called Humbledoves (poems to pigeons & plants). He won Third Prize in Winning Writers' Wergle Flomp Humor Poetry Contest, & his poetry has appeared in journals such as The Bombay Review, The Poetry Village, One Hand Clapping, Indian Periodical, The Sunday Tribune Online, THE BASTILLE, & Terre à Cièl (which also published his translations from the French). David is often featured at global events, such as the Panorama International Literature Festival, & 100 Thousand Poets for Change, as well as in many international podcasts & interviews. He is also a singer/songwriter, radio DJ, & a film/TV/theater actor.

2 thoughts on “I Hear the Bank of America Singing

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    Pretty sure he will have a great read. Thanks for sharing!

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