holy infomercial morning 

in middle school i liked to be
the first one up. the house cracked
her knuckles. i washed my face
with loud bar soap & sat alone
to watch the infomercial channel.
there were women with perfect hands 
& rotating spatulas & machines meant
to keep your meatloaf from sticking.
a vacuum seal god. a magic towel. i watched
until the television came alive with cartoons.
i came to crave the infomercials more
than the stories to follow. i loved
the repetition, how sometimes the same
three hour commercial would play
for weeks. i memorized their mantras 
like strange prayers for an easy life.
the hosts were either perfect women
or shouting men with thick beards 
& shiny teeth. their genders, polished &
tidy. i waited with anticipation
for my favorites: the round cake pan
& zoo books full of bright animals. 
we never ended up getting any 
of the items from the commercials. 
that made the shows more meaningful
to me. a glimpse over & over of that which
will never come. the way the hosts
hold the products like treasure. after the infomercials
arthur would come on & my dad would come home
from the night before. no one but me
knew anything about my affinity for 
long-form advertisements. my secret realm 
of strange desire. the host begging, "call now."
i wished i had a credit card so i could pick up
the phone & answer their pleas. instead, 
sun rise knocked on the windows. the day crawled
out of its numbers. my father drove
the winding roads from the factory back to 
our blue back door.