Sunday, April 20, 2008

The Power of one

Down the street. Up ahead. A corner. Jack’s corner. Down. Do.Wn.

Boop. Boop. Prrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrt.

The smooth corner, jutting sharply and carefully to harvest danger.

--Not now! I’ll not be having another! Said Jack Power.

Not him again. Not the Jew. I’ll show him a taste of good ole Ireland. Wait now, he’s gone. Ah, better of it. Hungry. I’ve not eaten. Barney’s. Ah.

--Oy! Jack! Says Bella. Standing on needles, she yodled jollily.

Why had she come? Why had she screamed? Was she truly mine?

Eyes ahunger, he circled her breasts quicklynicelyslowly.

--Good day Bella. Have you seen Bloom?

--Bloom? No. I’ve not seen him. Headed my way?


I’ve got the money. She’s slightly manish. A good tumble. Too conniving. Deserve it. Haven’t earned it. Have the time. Place to be. Can not. Must not. Why not? Will not.

--I must take my leave. I’ve somewhere to be says Power.

Farewell. More hunger. Even the stout need stout. Barney’s.

Mr. Power, turned the corner to avail himself his hunger. The day began fading back, like an old maid in the garret. Feeling ever weaker, Power rushed as a chimneysweep down through his chimney.

Maybe I should have gone? Won’t you send me to a weddin’?

Further on, une jeune fille bent down to retrieve a Freeman. Scarcely sixteen. Lonely. Waiting.

Power stopped to take another look at the girl. Up and down, his eyes pierced her bulkily pompedy cache.

A dress perhaps? A wedding dress? Just my luck, another one out of reach. Oh Dear Me. All is lost now.

Power arrived at Barney’s in time for food and drink. He searched for coin but found only choke. Damn the Jew! He can never understand the true plight of an Irishman! Ah wait yet, there somethinghere.



Power continued into Barney’s only to find Simon Dedalus perched at the bar.

--Oy Simon! Good afternoon, said Power.

Why does he not turn? Better than me? He thinks he’s better than me? No better than Bloom…. A Jew! I will show him my power! I will show him Jack Power. Hold. Not Simon. Too bad. I could take him.

Smiling, the waitress comes for orders.

Full frockcoat. Silk. Pink canary gloves. She stood erect under the pressure of Power’s gaze. Now she’s twenty-four. With a son and a daughter.

Power could smell the baconflitches and butter. HUNGER. But wait, overbearing needs must be fulfilled. He could be alone no longer. A waitress or not, Power had made his decision. Power was now involved.

Walking away, the waitress beamed, recognizing the famine in Power’s eyes.

Come rich man, come poor man,
Come fool or come witty,
Come any man at all!
Won't you marry out of pity?


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