The Honesty Box

Perhaps you’ve seen them dot
the shoulders of these rural roads,
simple stands with small roofs
like those that cover old wells, but
no windlass. A simple stand to sell
summer punnets of berries, windfall
apples, jars of jam and chutney
(still too hot for beans in aspic.)
Beside these I placed a basket
on which I wrote: Honesty Box,
and sat back to earn a profit.

But when I checked, there was a slip
of folded paper. Someone scrawled,
“He doesn’t know I know he knows,”
and the apples were diminished.
I perceived they didn’t get it.
Next day, “Yeah, we know
all about your string of ‘knows,’
jack-ass.” That gave me pause.
I would have liked some small change,
but accepted instead this candid audit.

Within a week the folded slips–
pages from pocket notebooks
with coil-torn edges, the backs
of ATM transactions–they flocked
into my basket like fallen moths,
without a smidgeon of pecuniary gain.
“You want a string? She doesn’t know
I know she knows what I know now.”
“This is goodbye forever Jane.”
“Help! I’m trapped inside my body.”

Next day I unfolded the retorts–
“Dear Trapped, get over it. Peace.”
“Glad to hear it, Mary. Not yours, Jane.”
And I wondered–bigger picture–
if my sign inspired any real courage
or good. I’m sure now that I’m not
especially misunderstood, and no richer
for the ordinary, sublunary pain
of a tossed-off, tossed-in message.

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Steve Noyes is a Canadian writer who has published six collections of poetry and two chapbooks, including Rainbow Stage-Manchuria (Oolichan Books, 2011), Small Data (Frog Hollow Press, 2014), and Ghost Country (Brick Books, 2006). His 2024 chapbook, The Conveyor (Alfred Gustav Press, 2024), won the bpNichol Prize. Recent poems have appeared in Pinhole Poetry, The Malahat Review, Critical Muslim, Devour, Queen’s Quarterly, and Asemana Magazine. He lives on Vancouver Island.