N E W S p o e m
17 January 1999
Anne Bargar

Thirty-five Cents Associated Poets (AP) Urbana- I placed my thirty-five cents in the box today. Thinking that I had given the green machine enough money I proceeded to pull on the handle provided to receive my goods. The News, or I should say, the box, decided that I should have no news today. Regardless of my actions, the aforementioned box held forth in it's resolve. I could not open the box. It would merely rattle, and not open. I pushed the little black button, hoping to retrieve my thirty-five cents. I received, as hoped, my quarter; however, my dime remained missing. This had not happened before. Usually when one requests the return of one's said change, the change is received with haste forthwith, in it's entirety. But this was only a small part of my change; $.25 and $.35 are not the same number. So at this time I re-inserted the coin into the box, once again pulling the thin, green metallic handle. Once again, it merely rattled. Foiled again! I shook my fist at the sky, deciding in desperation to add another quarter. I tug hopelessly at the green handle, that which is keeping me from knowing the depths of the news in print as it stood as of 2 PM. this afternoon. Disheartened, I trudged home through the falling snow. I would have to learn about the day's news through NPR, as fine a source as any, but not exactly what I had in mind. Damn Modern Technology!