[Newspoetry] with these glasses on, I can see what the invisible hand is doing

[Joe Futrelle]

With These Glasses On, I Can See What The Invisible Hand Is Doing

I immediately noticed that it was clenched into a fist and heading
straight for me.  My first thought was that it might crack the
glasses, so I quickly removed them.  It's impossible to describe the
sensation of being struck in the face by something you can't see, but
if it happens to you, run.  This wisdom not yet having been made
available to me, I found myself struggling to wrest the glasses from
my unseen assailant, who had begun tugging on them with the kind of
determination only the invisible hand seems to have.  Suddenly and
without warning, it released the glasses.  I was momentarily relieved,
but I shouldn't have been, since I should have seen what was coming or
at least where it was headed.

Doubled over in pain, I used what presence of mind I had to hold the
glasses close to my chest.  I was starting to figure this invisible
hand out.  Thus began an abortive series of attempts to run the hell
away, punctuated by getting tripped by the hand, pushed over by the
hand, karate chopped by the hand -- this was not what you might call a
helping hand.  Finally I managed through unbelievable luck to climb up
onto a fire escape where for some unseen reason the hand couldn't
reach me, and casually slipped the glasses on.

What I saw shouldn't have surprised me.  On the crowded street below
the hand, having given up on me, was going about what was presumably
its business.  This consisted of rifling through people's wallets when
they weren't looking and redistributing money and credit cards
according to some inscrutable scheme.  Or at least temporarily
inscrutable.  As I watched, I started to notice a pattern.  The money
always seemed to end up in the pockets of the impeccably-dressed,
already obviously wealthy types who would occasionally step out of
posh hotels into black limos with tinted windows.  The hand had a
knack for catching up with this rarefied species during that few
moments that they deigned to share the street with the ordinary
riff-raff, and it would stuff wads of hundreds into the pockets of
their fur coats or sometimes just cram bags with dollar signs on them
through the door of a limo right before it closed.

This was clearly the money of people who had been planning to use it.
More than once, I saw someone arrive at a newspaper or hot dog stand
only to find their pockets empty.  Some actually searched their
surroundings for their lost cash, not realizing that the invisible
hand was right in front of them, flipping them off.

So that's its game, I thought from the safety of my fire escape.  It's
some kind of obscene postmodern Robin Hood who takes from the poor and
gives to the rich.  How it became invisible I will probably never
discover.  Shaking my head as if to dislodge the unpleasant facts that
I now knew, I put the glasses back in the envelope in which they were
sent to me, crossed out the address, and addressed it to my best
friend in Cleveland.  Once the glasses pass over enough eyes, I
thought, we may be able to outsmart this unseen menace.  Until then, I
was sure that I could learn to smell it.

--
Joe Futrelle
editor-so-called
Newspoetry dawt com