ALAN HARAWITZ

MEMBERSHIP DRIVE

Hands trembling with anticipation,
I reach for the mail.

Big brown envelope
from the NRA.

How had they found me?
Always a Democrat
except for 1968 when young and foolish
I voted for Dick Gregory
to punish Hubert Humphrey.
(Boy, did I punish him!)

Now the NRA has sent me
an official registration form
along with an introductory letter
warning me about extremists
in the anti-gun movement;
even a pre-approved NRA membership card,
American bald eagle on the front side and
that most sacred of the first ten amendments
to the Constitution on the back:

Bill of Rights Amendment II
A well regulated militia, being necessary
to the security of a free State,
the right of the people to keep and bear arms,
shall not be infringed

I'm almost in tears.
The only thing they haven't sent me
is a gold coin with the head
of Charlton Heston engraved on it
and the inscription In God We Trust.

But I'm still puzzled.
How did they know I was
an NRA kind of guy?

My fishing magazine subscriptions?
Surely not the ones for fly fishing.

It must be my B.A.S.S. membership.
I think George Bush is also a member,
or at least a close friend of the publisher,
and everyone knows bass fishermen
are a rough bunch of tobacco-chewing
rednecks and good ol' boys.

So please, before I join,
I have to know for sure:

How did you find me?

Alan Harawitz is a Brooklynite by birth; lives in New York for nine months, three in Maine. His work has appeared in many magazines including most recently Pivot, Prairie Winds, Raintown Review, Red Wheelbarrow, Connecticut River Review, Pacific Coast Journal, Porcupine Literary Arts, and Red Owl (out in March 2002) among others. He read "Membership Drive" at the Pink Pony West series and damn near got a standing ovation!