Come on In! Page 6

as we passed

  our eyes fucked

  and loved and

  sang to each

  other

  and then

  she moved

  past me.

  I walked on

  not looking

  back.

  then

  when I looked

  back

  she was

  gone.

  what is one

  to do

  in a world

  where almost everything

  worth having

  or doing

  is

  impossible?

  I went into

  a coffee shop

  and decided that

  if I ever saw

  her again somehow

  I’d say,

  “listen, please,

  I just must

  speak to

  you …”

  I never saw her

  again

  I never will.

  the iron in our

  society silences

  a man’s

  heart

  and when you

  silence a man’s

  heart

  you leave him

  finally

  with only

  a cock.

  another high-roller

  I went to Vegas last weekend

  I had on that blue dress

  low-cut and short

  the one you like

  and I wore my brown boots

  and this guy at the crap table

  he kept winning

  and he kept feeding me chips

  he said I brought him luck.

  I won a few hundred but

  I swear to Christ he must have

  won 40 thousand dollars that

  night.

  he was a great guy.

  he told me,

  “don’t go away, we’re going to win

  the world! ”

  it was some night, believe me.

  I’ll never forget it.

  you don’t like Vegas, do

  you? she asked.

  I once got married there,

  I said.

  and what did you do over the

  weekend? she asked.

  I waxed my car,

  I told her.

  the fucking horses

  “the fucking horses,” she said, “you keep bringing me

  out to these fucking horse races and I lose, god damn it,

  it’s all so useless and ignorant, I hate it, I just

  hate it!”

  her purse had a long strap and she was swinging it

  around and around with great velocity.

  we were walking out of the track after the

  last race.

  “I told you,” I said, “not to bet the horses with

  high speed ratings, especially at comparative

  distances.”

  “but shit,” she screamed, “why doesn’t it work?

  the horse that ran faster last time, why doesn’t

  he win against the slower ones?”

  “anybody can take a short price on exposed form,”

  I said. “it’s self-defeating.”

  “goddamn you!” she screamed. “I hate you and I hate horses!”

  and she swung her purse around and around on its

  long strap.

  then there was a hard harsh thud:

  she had just hit the man on the head

  who was walking behind us.

  the poor soul was badly staggered.

  an elderly Mexican.

  I held him up by the arm.

  “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” I said,

  “it was an accident!

  she didn’t mean to hit you with her

  purse!

  she has lost a great deal of money today

  and she’s a little crazy!

  I’m very sorry!”

  “it’s all right,” the fellow said.

  I let go of his arm and we turned and

  walked on.

  “what’s the matter?” she screamed.

  “are you afraid of that man?

  are you afraid of a real fight?”

  “of course I am,” I told her.

  “I thought so!” she screamed. “let’s

  get the hell out of here!”

  it was when we got to the car

  and after I got it started that

  this thought

  went through my mind:

  baby, I don’t know why the hell

  I’m living with you!

  I stopped at the first light.

  then as we drove up Huntington Drive

  she said to me,

  “you know, I don’t know why the hell

  I’m living with you!”

  I kept on driving up Huntington.

  then I turned on the car radio.

  we had been together one and one-half

  years.

  it’s always easier to meet than

  to part.

  I know

  because after that day at the track

  we managed to live together for another

  year.

  hello there!

  when death comes with its last cold kiss

  I’ll be ready.

  (I’ve already experienced my share of

  deathly

  kisses.)

  the mad ladies who helped me

  consume my hours

  my years

  have readied me for the

  dark.

  when death comes with its last cold kiss

  I’ll be ready:

  just another whore

  come to

  shake me

  down.

  the fuck-master

  Arnie was ahead of all of us, he began shaving

  first and then he flashed rubbers at us

  in their mysterious tin cases

  and he was the first one with his own automobile

  and he always had some girl in his

  car, always a new one,

  sitting there quiet and frightened

  and we knew he was fucking her

  and

  he knew where to get gin, he’d get them

  drunk on gin and then he’d do it to

  them!

  all that was in jr. high

  but when we went on to

  high school

  Arnie kept going back to jr. high

  to pick up the jr. high school girls

  in his car (it was almost like he was stuck

  back there in jr.

  high).

  well, time passed and then Arnie

  dropped out of high school and

  I forgot about

  him.

  two years later I was walking

  home after classes one afternoon

  and here came

  Arnie.

  Christ, he looked all wizened, almost

  vanished.

  I had gotten bigger and wiser meanwhile

  and I was more comfortable with

  things.

  I slapped him on the back, “hey, Arnie, you

  FUCKER, how ya

  doin’?”

  “hi, Hank,” he

  said.

  we shook hands and his hand was trembling

  and sweaty.

  I let go of

  it.

  we stood and looked at each other.

  “well, see you around, cousin,” I

  said.

  and I

  left him standing there.

  the poor guy had fucked hi
mself away, completely

  fucked himself

  away.

  and I still had all mine

  left!

  my personal psychologist

  you’re a screwed-up Romantic, she said,

  you read all the old philosophers and you

  listen to Wagner and Mahler and you think

  the ancient Chinese poets were hot shit, yet

  you’re depraved, you’re at the racetrack

  every day and you know that’s sick, and

  all that wine you drink, it’s eating

  your brain away, and when you get drunk

  you talk about what a great fighter you

  used to be, even though you admit you

  took more beatings than you gave.

  you dislike people and love animals.

  I really don’t know what the hell you’re

  all about—you just grab at things, you rely

  solely on instinct and your prejudices

  and sometimes I think you’re retarded.

  it was your childhood, you didn’t get any

  love so it’s hard for you to give any,

  you just get drunk and call every woman a

  whore.

  listen, I said, isn’t there any more

  beer?

  and where the hell are the cigarettes?

  there were 3 on this table a moment ago and

  now they’re all

  gone!

  jealousy

  I know this fellow, he is

  amazing, so terribly

  dull

  but get him in a room full of

  women

  and he will find the easy

  one

  and they will begin

  talking

  and eventually they will

  vanish

  and they will

  fuck.

  his conversation is quite

  banal:

  “oh, did your mother

  come from Michigan? I had a

  brother who went to the

  University of Detroit!”

  what all this means is

  that he will talk and talk

  about anything and listen and

  listen forever to

  everything.

  the ladies really

  ate

  it

  up.

  most of us are

  unable to accomplish

  this kind of thing

  but this fellow

  can talk

  dumb crap for hours

  and much later

  after completing his

  coitus

  he will walk in

  with the smiling lady

  like a Lion King

  as if the

  whole thing

  was

  an endearing adventure

  and somehow

  fulfilling

  for us

  all.

  her guy

  you had gotten out of

  jail earlier that morning.

  you got home about 4:30 a.m.

  and started drinking with those

  two dykes.

  when I got there around 9 a.m.

  you were lying on the couch with them

  in your shorts and

  undershirt

  smoking an old cigar

  and holding a beer can in your

  hand,

  you were a mess,

  you had pennies and beer caps

  stuck to your back

  and the floor was covered with

  bottles.

  “hi, kid,” you said,

  “I just got out … we’re celebrating.”

  you were totally gone.

  I’d heard some terrible things about you

  and finally

  I believed them.

  dead poet’s wife

  she told me that I was insensitive

  that I didn’t revere God or love

  animals. even flies have souls,

  she told me.

  we were in a motel room at Laguna

  Beach. she was overweight and

  so was I and maybe in the

  great all-encompassing nature of things

  we both had souls

  like flies.

  I lifted my drink

  and emptied it.

  “shit,” she said, “William drank too much

  too. don’t you know that life can be

  beautiful?”

  “yes, that’s why I drink.”

  “don’t you love the beauty of nature?” she

  asked. “don’t you ever think of the miracle

  of birth?”

  “I think of the miracle of death.”

  “I used to think you were a great poet,”

  she said, “but now that I’ve met you and

  know you better, I don’t think that anymore.

  you can’t fuck

  me.”

  “I don’t have the desire to fuck

  you,” I answered, “and you know it.”

  it was 3 a.m. and I walked out of the

  motel room with a new drink in my hand.

  I was dressed in my shorts and I

  finished the drink and dropped myself

  into the swimming pool. all the lights

  were out. the manager stepped out as

  I dog-paddled about in the dark.

  “what the hell are you doing?” he

  screamed.

  “turn on the pool lights,” I screamed back.

  the lights came on and I paddled around for

  5 minutes more, then climbed out and walked

  back into the motel room.

  she had her back turned to me in the bed.

  I got in with a new drink and looked at

  my feet sticking out from under the covers.

  I decided that I had the most beautiful feet

  of any man on earth.

  then the pool lights went out and all I

  could see was the glowing end of my cigarette.

  I decided that in the great all-encompassing

  nature of things it must certainly have

  a soul too.

  scrambled legs

  we were having lunch

  at Hal’s Diner.

  “you know,” he told me, “after we made love

  the last time

  she lay in my arms and cried. she said,

  ‘oh my god, I miss him so!’

  she was talking about you, Hank.”

  “that’s just the way it is, Jack, with all

  my women: while I’m with them they hate

  me but after I leave them they love

  me.

  I’m never tempted to go back to them, however, I don’t even

  consider it.”

  “you don’t mind that I slept with her,

  Hank?”

  “did she cook you a good breakfast afterwards,

  Jack?”

  “I don’t remember.”

  “well, I’ll tell you: she didn’t.”

  “is that the reason you left her:

  because she couldn’t cook

  a good breakfast?”

  “I never eat breakfast, Jack.”

  “then what happened?”

  “too often, after we made love, she

  began crying in my arms about how she

  missed some other guy.”

  “well,” he said, “I’ll be a son-of-a-bitch.”

  “don’t be,” I said, “just pass the salt and

  pepper.”

  endless love

  I’ve seen old married couples

  sitting in their rockers

&
nbsp; across from one another

  being congratulated

  for staying together 60 or 70

  years,

  either of whom

  would

  long ago have

  settled for something

  else, anything else,

  but fate

  fear and

  circumstances have

  bound them

  eternally together;

  and as we tell them

  how wonderful

  their great and enduring love

  is

  only they

  really know

  the truth

  but they don’t tell us

  that from the first day they

  met

  somehow

  it didn’t mean

  all that much:

  like

  waiting for death

  now

  it was just an endless determination to

  endure.

  down and out on the boardwalk

  she lived in Venice

  on some 2nd floor

  and I’d knock and she’d

  let me in

  and there was no bed

  just a mat on the floor

  and candles

  everywhere

  there was even a

  piano

  and there was also a

  guitar

  and while we sipped

  white wine

  she’d sit on the

  floor

  and play the

  guitar

  and sing songs

  her own lyrics