I remember
what it was like
to make a deposit,
standing at the desk
before taking your place
in line,
filling out slips
of pink or green paper—
an amount, no mistakes—
then presenting
your precious little account book
like credentials
at a border,
hoping to be let
back into the country.
I opt for the machine now
to avoid
chit-chat with the Teller,
the fake pleasantries,
straight-faced nod
as she takes
an embarrassing peek
at my undersized balance.
To sum up:
I go for the screen's
impersonal privacy,
sidle up to the ATM
careful not to look
over the partition
at the guy
next screen over,
doing his business—
like we’re side-by-side
at airport urinals.
I slide my card in
for a withdrawal,
try recalling my PIN
(never show it to anyone)
my PIN, my PIN—
it won’t come.
The screen gets tired
of waiting:
"Do you want to continue?"
And I ask—
Do I?
I'm not sure
it's worth it.
4 comments:
Unusual subject for a poem: probably the first poem ever about an ATM. Is it worth the wait? What is your real question in this poem?
I'm Jewish, so I will answer your question with a question: Is there usual subject for a poem?
I think it's a poem about getting old ... trying to keep your "balance" (there's the "bank balance," but there's also the "balance" you need so you don't fall down and break your hip!) ... losing your memory (forgetting the PIN), and all the frustration and humiliation that accompanies memory loss ... and remembering the "good old days" of waiting in line at the bank in order to fill out and hand in your color-coded slip for deposit or withdrawal (what a thing to be nostalgic about!). I think the poem is hilarious! It's probably not the first poem about an ATM, as Rachel purports, but it may be the first poem to conflate ATMs with the serious topic of aging, via a quirky perspective on "getting one's banking done". The irony is that the narrator remembers the pre-ATM days of banking, and struggles with the "new technology" of the ATM, when most people under 30 won't even know what an ATM is because it's such an old and outdated technology! (Who even uses cash?) The ultimate irony for me is that I find myself strangely identifying with the hapless narrator! I'm laughing as I'm reading, but I'm laughing at myself! That's why I like this funny, quirky poem!
Brilliant! Like Rachel I was wondering what this one was about. I think you are exactly right. Aging is something like travelling to a foreign country. Especially when it includes mental health degeneration, as it usually does. But when it doesn’t, the evolution of modern technology, culture, language makes us feel like it’s a new land.
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