him.
I had run my 43 cents up to a
dollar ninety
when I saw her going upstairs with
her fireman.
“he’s gonna show me their sleeping
quarters,” she told
me.
“I understand,” I told
her.
when her fireman slid down the pole
ten minutes later
I nodded him
over.
“that’ll be 5
dollars.”
“5 dollars for
that?”
“we wouldn’t want a scandal, would
we? we both might lose our
jobs. of course, I’m not
working.”
he gave me the
5.
“sit down, you might get it
back.”
“whatcha playing?”
“blackjack.”
“gambling’s against the
law.”
“anything interesting is. besides,
you see any money on the
table?”
he sat down.
that made 5 of
us.
“how was it Harry?” somebody asked
him.
“not bad, not
bad.”
the other guy went on
upstairs.
they were bad players really.
they didn’t bother to memorize the
deck. they didn’t know whether the
high numbers or low numbers were left. and basically they hit too
high,
didn’t hold low
enough.
when the other guy came down
he gave me a
five.
“how was it, Marty?”
“not bad. she’s got…some fine
movements.”
“hit me!” I said. “nice clean girl. I
ride it myself.”
nobody said
anything.
“any big fires lately?” I
asked.
“naw. nothin’
much.”
“you guys need
exercise. hit me
again!”
a big red-headed kid who had been shining an
engine
threw down his rag and
went upstairs.
when he came down he threw me a
five.
when the 4th guy came down I gave him
3 fives for a
twenty.
I don’t know how many firemen
were in the building or where they
were. I figured a few had slipped by me
but I was a good
sport.
it was getting dark outside
when the alarm
rang.
they started running around.
guys came sliding down the
pole.
then she came sliding down the
pole. she was good with the
pole. a real woman. nothing but guts
and
ass.
“let’s go,” I told
her.
she stood there waving goodbye to the
firemen but they didn’t seem
much interested
any more.
“let’s go back to the
bar,” I told
her.
“ooh, you got
money?”
“I found some I didn’t know I
had…”
we sat at the end of the bar
with whiskey and beer
chaser.
“I sure got a good
sleep.”
“sure, baby, you need your
sleep.”
“look at that sailor looking at me!
he must think I’m a…a…”
“naw, he don’t think that. relax, you’ve got
class, real class. sometimes you remind me of an
opera singer. you know, one of those prima d’s.
your class shows all over
you. drink
up.”
I ordered 2
more.
“you know, daddy, you’re the only man I
LOVE! I mean, really…LOVE! ya
know?”
“sure I know. sometimes I think I am a king
in spite of myself.”
“yeah. yeah. that’s what I mean, somethin’ like
that.”
I had to go to the urinal. when I came back
the sailor was sitting in my
seat. she had her leg up against his and
he was talking.
I walked over and got in a dart game with
Harry the Horse and the corner
newsboy.
an argument over Marshal Foch
Foch was a great soldier, he said, Marshal Foch;
listen, I said, if you don’t keep it clean
I’ll have to slap you across the face with
a wet towel.
I’ll write the governor, he said.
the governor is my uncle, I said.
Marshal Foch was my
grandfather, he said.
I warned you, I said. I’m a
gentleman.
And I’m a Foch, he said.
that did it. I slapped him with a wet towel.
he grabbed the phone.
governor’s mansion, he said.
I slapped a wet rubber glove down
his mouth and cut the wire.
outside the crickets were chirping like
mad: Foch, Foch, Foch, Foch!
they chirped.
I got out my sub-machine gun and blasted
the devils
but there were so many of them
I had to give up.
I pulled the wet rubber glove out.
I surrender, I said, it’s too much:
I can’t change the world.
all the so-called ladies in the room
applauded.
he stood up and bowed gallantly as
outside the crickets chirped.
I put on my hat
and stalked out. I still maintain
the French are weak
and no
wonder.
40 cigarettes
I smoked 2 packs of cigarettes today and
my tongue feels like a
caterpillar trying to get out for
rainwater
somebody is working over
Pictures at an Exhibition
while tiny pimples of sweat
work their way down my
fat sides.
too sick today and told the man
over the phone
it was stomach pains.
the pains in the ass too and
the soul?
the gophers are underground
staring at pictures on mudwalls
machineguns are mounted in the
windows.
40 cigarettes.
what’s walking around
chewing grass,
4 legs, no
hands?
it’s not the
politburo.
it could be a
donkey. how’d you like to be in a
donkey’s head for a
while? your body in a donkey’s
body? you’d only last
ten minutes
they’d have to let you
out
you’d be so
scared
but who’s going to
let you out of that
dismal bluepurple notion
of what you are
now? and I’m the one who’s
scared.
a killer gets ready
he was a good one
say 18, 19,
a marine
and everytime
a woman came down the train
aisle
he seemed to stand up
so I couldn’t see
her
and the woman smiled at him
but I didn’t smile
at him
he kept looking at himself in the
train window
and standing up and taking off his
coat and then standing up
and putting it back
on
he polished his belt buckle with a
delighted vigor
and his neck was red and
his face was red and his eyes were a
pretty blue
but I didn’t like
him
and everytime I went to the can
he was either in one of the cans
or he was in front of one of the mirrors
combing his hair or
shaving
and he was always walking up and down the
aisles
or drinking water
I watched his Adam’s apple juggle the water
down
he was always in my
eyes
but we never spoke
and I remembered all the other trains
all the other buses
all the other wars
he got off at Pasadena
vainer than any woman
he got off at Pasadena
proud and
dead
the rest of the trainride—
8 or 10 miles—
was perfect.
I love you
I opened the door of this shanty and there she lay
there she lay
my love
across the back of a man in a dirty undershirt.
I was rough tough easy-with-money-Charley (that’s me)
and I awakened both of them
like God
and when she was awake
she started screaming, “Hank, Hank!” (that’s my other name)
“take me away from this son of a bitch!
I hate him I love you!”
of course, I was wise enough not to believe any of
this and I sat down and said,
“I need a drink, my head hurts and I need a
drink.”
this is the way love works, you see, and then we all sat there
drinking the whiskey and I was
perfectly satisfied
and then he reached over and handed me a five,
“that’s all that’s left of what she took, that’s all that’s left
of what she took from you.”
I was no golden-winged angel ripped up through
boxtops
I took the five and left them in there
and I walked up the alley
to Alvarado street
and I turned in left
at the first
bar.
a little atomic bomb
o, just give me a little atomic bomb
not too much
just a little
enough to kill a horse in the street
but there aren’t any horses in the street
well, enough to knock the flowers from a bowl
but I don’t see any
flowers in a
bowl
enough then
to frighten my love
but I don’t have any
love
well
give me an atomic bomb then
to scrub in my bathtub
like a dirty and lovable child
(I’ve got a bathtub)
just a little atomic bomb, general,
with pugnose
pink ears
smelling like underclothes in
July
do you think I’m crazy?
I think you’re crazy
too
so the way you think:
send me one before somebody else
does.
the egg
he’s 17.
mother, he said, how do I crack an
egg?
all right, she said to me, you don’t have to
sit there looking like that.
oh, mother, he said, you broke the yoke.
I can’t eat a broken yoke.
all right, she said to me, you’re so tough,
you’ve been in the slaughterhouses, factories,
the jails, you’re so god damned tough,
but all people don’t have to be like you,
that doesn’t make everybody else wrong and you
right.
mother, he said, can you bring me some cokes
when you come home from work?
look, Raleigh, she said, can’t you get the cokes
on your bike, I’m tired after
work.
but, mama, there’s a hill.
what hill, Raleigh?
there’s a hill,
it’s there and I have to peddle over
it.
all right, she said to me, you think you’re so
god damned tough. you worked on a railroad track
gang, I hear about it every time you get drunk:
“I worked on a railroad track gang.”
well, I said, I did.
I mean, what difference does it make?
everybody has to work somewhere.
mama, said the kid, will you bring me those
cokes?
I really like the kid. I think he’s very
gentle. and once he learns how to crack an
egg he may do some
unusual things. meanwhile
I sleep with his mother
and try to stay out of
arguments.
the knifer
you knifed me, he said, you told Pink Eagle
not to publish me.
oh hell, Manny, I said, get off it.
these poets are very sensitive
they have more sensitivity than talent,
I don’t know what to do with them.
just tonight the phone rang and
it was Bagatelli and Bagatelli said
Clarsten phoned and Clarsten was pissed
because we hadn’t mailed him the
anthology, and Clarsten blamed me
for not mailing the anthology
and furthermore Clarsten
claimed I was trying to do him
in, and he was very
angry. so said
Bagatelli.
you know, I’m really beginning to feel like
a literary power
I just lean back in my chair and roll cigarettes
and stare at the walls
and I am given credit for the life and death of
poetic careers.
at least I’m given credit for the
death part.
actually these boys are dying off without my
help. The sun has gone behind the cloud.
I have nothing to do with the workings.
I smoke Prince Albert, drink Schlitz
and copulate whenever possible. believe in my
innocence and I might consider
yours.
the ladies of summer
the ladies of summer will die like the rose
and the lie
the ladies of summer will love
so long as the price is not
forever
the ladies of summer
might love anybody;
they might even love you
as long as summer
lasts
yet winter will come to them
too
white snow and
a cold freezing
and faces so ugly
that even death
will turn away—
wince—
before taking
them.
I’m in love
she’s young, she said,
but look at me,
&nb
sp; I have pretty ankles,
and look at my wrists, I have pretty
wrists
o my god,
I thought it was all working,
Play the Piano Page 3