driving back to work
after the first of the year and
I notice
where someone dumped
their Christmas tree
in the ditch
by the side of the road
wrapped loosely in plastic
fluttering in the wind
several empty beer bottles and
a few cans
scattered around it and
clumps of garbage
I can’t identify
decorating
the dead grass
with beautiful colors
In San Francisco
I had a dream
that no one noticed
when the trolleys
ran the wrong way
and completely missed
the stop at Union Square.
Instead of going to work
people went home and
chose to eat peas for
dessert instead of cake.
At the dinner table
they spoke of the universe
rather than politics and
believed in themselves,
settling for nothing
less than perfect.
I headed south to
Oakland and everything
seemed so alive for once.
The people were the
happiest I’ve ever seen.
I woke up by your side
the next morning and
watched as your hands
shone like silk in the sunlight
coming through the
room’s only window.
The dream resided in those
hands, if only I could
touch them without
waking the dreamer.
It’s no surprise that skin becomes like crushed cigarette papers, that eyes film over,
Bones get powdery and the flesh hangs off ‘em, that hair is sucked white as you age
I mean being pulled out from under the covers every morning by the hair
To take up a shovel or have one taken up against you is bound to have ramifications
As you will have noticed anyway and all anyone talks about these days is disgrace
Constantly being battered by light-sources and by shadows. Sisters sing or
Tell at you to shut up in your own car and everywhere there are clicks and whistles
Endless hours spent sitting on a chair by a heater whittling at your teeth
Searching through your mind for any crime that you do not feel capable of committing
Not dying young I now realise requires great endurance and profound masochism
My friend’s mother showed me photos of her youth as an elaborate apology for being seen by me without make-up on at 10.30am in her own fucking house.
To make my friend laugh I signed up for a beauty contest but it was cancelled
A child got stood on by the bull-calf he’d been trying to ride just before the pageant
We were searching thistles for clover while waiting for the call to run amok
I won’t be fooled to believing there is any joy in watching beautiful women dance
It’s just an insufferable mess for your mind and there is no such thing as dancing
If you take up this argument in your hands like a sphere and look at it closely from all angles you will note there are no cracks in it, no way in, so put your chisel down
I will not lighten up and this is not my idea of a joke. You look as ridiculous as I feel.
Our tools have proved nothing less than a burden since our fathers invented them
Exhibit a; the sickle, Exhibit b; the axe, Exhibit c; the box cutter
There are cracks in my resolve though I admit. But here is one more irrefutable fact:
Our neighbours are no less of a disgrace than we are so stop looking at me like that
It’s no surprise that skin becomes like crushed cigarette papers, that eyes film over,
Bones get powdery and the flesh hangs off ‘em, that hair is sucked white as you age
I mean being pulled out from under the covers every morning by the hair
To take up a shovel or have one taken up against you is bound to have ramifications
As you will have noticed anyway and all anyone talks about these days is disgrace
Constantly being battered by light-sources and by shadows. Sisters sing or
Tell at you to shut up in your own car and everywhere there are clicks and whistles
Endless hours spent sitting on a chair by a heater whittling at your teeth
Searching through your mind for any crime that you do not feel capable of committing
Not dying young I now realise requires great endurance and profound masochism
My friend’s mother showed me photos of her youth as an elaborate apology for being seen by me without make-up on at 10.30am in her own fucking house.
To make my friend laugh I signed up for a beauty contest but it was cancelled
A child got stood on by the bull-calf he’d been trying to ride just before the pageant
We were searching thistles for clover while waiting for the call to run amok
I won’t be fooled to believing there is any joy in watching beautiful women dance
It’s just an insufferable mess for your mind and there is no such thing as dancing
If you take up this argument in your hands like a sphere and look at it closely from all angles you will note there are no cracks in it, no way in, so put your chisel down
I will not lighten up and this is not my idea of a joke. You look as ridiculous as I feel.
Our tools have proved nothing less than a burden since our fathers invented them
Exhibit a; the sickle, Exhibit b; the axe, Exhibit c; the box cutter
There are cracks in my resolve though I admit. But here is one more irrefutable fact:
Our neighbours are no less of a disgrace than we are so stop looking at me like that
In a café on the corner of the street sits a man, he sits at a table,
hunched over. On the opposite side of the street stands a woman, waiting at
a bus stop. She sees the man in the café and for a moment thinks she
recognizes him, but a bus comes along and she gets on. The man looks up
from his coffee and sees the woman on the bus. She looks at him, and he
instantly remembers her. The bus pulls off and she turns away. The man
leaves the café in a rush and dashes into the street, shouting,
“Leopoldina!” But she cannot hear him. A taxi, driven too fast, because the
passenger is late, comes round a corner and hits the man. He is dragged
twenty yards along the road.
The woman sits on the bus. She doesn’t have far to travel. She is trying to
remember the face of the man in the café. Then she remembers, Arturo. At
university they had been so in love. When he was drafted into the army she
was heartbroken. The army was such a heartless place for a sensitive man to
be. Then she discovered she was pregnant. The baby was a boy. She called
him Carlos. She often wrote to Arturo, but received no reply. Then she
heard he had been killed in action. She moved to the city to find work.
Leopoldina quickly gets off the bus. She hurries across the street and
waits impatiently for a bus to take her back.
When she arrives at the café she notices a crowd of people dispersing and
an ambulance driving away.
She asks in the café about the man who had been sitting by the window.
“Oh him,” said the waitress, “didn’t leave me a tip.”
“Do you know where he went?”
“No idea.”
Leopoldina leaves the café disappointed. She looks for Arturo. She wanders
the streets for an hour.
Then she catches a bus into town. Maybe it wasn’t him after all. She
couldn’t be sure.