Pawn Shop Poem by Joe Rosochacki

Yellow tickets assigned to items,
Dreams of hope of past, present and future,
On collateral with items above diversification.
Some of their former mentors used plastic to purchase,
Later pawn their peculiar products,
To the purposeful pawn person who catches their concern,
With a constant continuous flows of quick cold cash,
For their stash and crack.
Guns, stereos, you name it he’s got it,
In this pawn shop, on Saginaw Street, in the city of Pontiac.

‘I’d like fifty” pawn man say “Five”,
“How about thirty-four? ”, pawn man say “Ten not a penny more”.
Ten bucks for a DVD/VCR to hold for thirty days,
He’ll set it for sixty dollars if a day past thirty it stays.
Inventory,
Never a complete story,
Cases upon cases, of guitars he will sell and stack,
In this pawn shop, on Saginaw Street, in the City of Pontiac.
Cd’s, cameras and many a tool, no need for a blue light special sale,
For the shopper of the bargain basement school,
No formal sales receipt, ten pounds of coffee, no credit cards or checks,
His mom raised no fool, just pure cash.
He buys for less and sells for more, in a never ending cycle.
Based upon suppliers hard on their luck, who will hock even the city trash,
For their alcohol and stash, or a poor persons’ putrid panache.
He says he isn’t a fence and does this, contacts the police,
If ANYTHING SMELLS ILLEGAL: SO HE SAYS,
“You’re always welcome back.”
To the pawn shop, on Saginaw Street, in the City of Pontiac.

(9-1986)