CALL GOD COLLECT

May 2, 2025

This morning I put up a new street poem on an old telephone pole near a cracked, mostly-quiet intersection. The pole stands in a patch of forgotten parking lot, next to buildings that have changed hands too many times to keep track. Liquor stores and check cashing and lotto seem to be common themes. The kind of spot where the sun feels heavier and the wind carries a little grit with it. Several men walking near me — some where talking to me — some were talking to themselves — heavy conversations. One man wanted to clean my shoes and my windshield. He kept on walking past before I had a chance to say, “No thank you.”

The street poem I had painted was on two slats of wood:
one read … CALL GOD
The other …. COLLECT

Something about those words felt right here—humble, a little funny, a little serious. Like a whisper sent up through the power lines, hoping somebody’s listening. A call to GOD. 1-800-CALL-GOD

This stretch of road wasn’t always like this. There was a time when it buzzed with different kinds of energy. Before the years peeled the paint and emptied the storefronts. Before all the package stores. I grew up near here. I have a few memories from when I was a little boy.

Just to the left of the image stood a toy store. Lionel Toys was very exciting to a boy in 2nd grade. I remember going there once and being so happy and overwhelmed with all the toys and things to see! I didn’t know where to go or what to say. Big tall shelves. So exciting. I am pretty sure I really wanted a G.I. Joe character or vehicle.

To the right of the image is a Burger King. I remember my Dad talking like Mr.T at the drive-thru. There was some promotion going on with commercials on TV featuring Mr.T. He would said something about “I want the new WHOPPER and I want it BIGGER BETTER!” So my Dad rolled up and said that in Mr. T voice at the drive-thru microphone. I think the point was to get a discount. I am not sure if we got a Whopper or a discount.

I also remember seeing the monster truck Big Foot nearby at the old Avondale Mall. I had never seen anything like that. My grandpa took me to see it. I was very impressed and didn’t know how they got it inside the mall atrium.

On a darker note, at this location I also remember being with my Mom and hearing gunshots and my mom made us get on the ground . I don’t recall too much, but I remember the sound and the way my Mom acted. I knew something must be serious. Maybe after that things in the. area began to slide toward shady.

Today, I attached the sign and climbed down the ladder. I stepped back. There had been some men walking nearby yelling and talking so I kept one eye on them. With the other eye I looked at my new street poem. The letters hung there plain as day, holding their own on a corner that’s been slowly fading but still has a soul. I hope someone driving by looks up and sees it. I hope they smile as they sit at the red light — or pause — or maybe just feel a little less alone. Maybe they will call GOD collect.

Street poems are quiet seeds to those who see them. Little quiet seeds…

See you soon,
Kyle BlackCatTips Brooks

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