Mockingbird Wish Me Luck (13 page)

 

men in white t-shirts (unbothered

by life) are walking their

dogs

outside

as I watch a professional basketball

game on

t.v. and

I have no interest

in who will win but I do notice

a lady in the grandstand crossing

her legs (my editor phoned me last night at 10:15 p.m. and

found me asleep—

maybe that’s why he has to

print the unpublished works of

Gertrude Stein).

 

 

very bad

symphony music now

(I mean bad for me)

the violin sings of dank life and the

grave and I am a student of

both.

 

 

here now

my love has gone looking

for an apartment in Venice,

California and

she has left me with her

dog (a not quite immaculate creature named

Stubby

who sits behind my chair listening to a violin and

a typewriter).

 

 

they say

fire-eaters, traffic cops, boxers and

clerks in department stores

sometimes know the

truth. (I do what I

can.)

the best one can settle for

is an afternoon

with the rent paid, some food in the refrigerator,

and death something like

a bad painting by a bad painter

(that you finally buy because there’s not

anything else

around).

 

 

my love has gone looking for an apartment

in Venice, California across the top of the sky

something marches upsidedown;

 

 

waiting for my novelist friend to put the

word down

she sits in the kitchen

thinking about the madhouse

thinking about her x-husband

while I entertain her 3 year old child

who is now in the bathtub;

well, listen, I guess after a madhouse or

2 you need a few breaks…

my novelist friend may be crazy
now

or she wouldn’t be in the same house

with me,

or maybe I’m the one who’s crazy:

she’s told me a couple of times she’s going to

cut off my balls if I do this thing or

that thing.

well, taking a chance with my balls on the line

that way

it had better be a good novel

or at least a bad one that is a best seller.

 

 

I sit here rolling cigarette after cigarette

while listening to her

type.

I suppose that for each genius launched

5 or 6 people must suffer for

it

them

him

her.

 

 

very well.

 

 

your child has no name

your hair has no color

your face has no flesh

your feet have no toes

your country has ten flags

 

 

your voice has no tongue

your ideas slide like snakes

your eyes do not match

 

 

you eat bouquets of flowers

throw poisoned meat to the dogs

 

 

I see you linger in alleys with a club

I see you with a knife for anybody

I see you peddling a fishhead for a heart

 

 

and when the sun comes churning down

you’ll come walking in from the kitchen

with a drink in your hand

humming the latest tune

and smiling at me in your red tight dress

extraordinary…

 

 

this woman thinks she’s a panther

and sometimes when we are making love

she’ll snarl and spit

and her hair comes down

and she looks out from the strands

and shows me her fangs

but I kiss her anyhow and continue to love.

have you ever kissed a panther?

have you ever seen a female panther enjoying

the act of love?

you haven’t loved, friend.

you with your squirrels and chipmunks

and elephants and sheep.

you ought to sleep with a panther

you’ll never again want

squirrels, chipmunks, elephants, sheep, fox,

wolverines,

never anything but the female panther

the female panther walking across the room

the female panther walking across your soul,

all other love songs are lies

when that black smooth fur moves against you

and the sky falls down against your back,

the female panther is the dream arrived real

and there’s no going back

or wanting to—

the fur up against you,

the search over

and you are locked against the eyes of a panther.

 

 

my love brought me 2 carnations

my love brought me red

my love brought me her

my love told me not to worry

my love told me not to die

 

 

my love is 2 carnations on a table

while listening to Schoenberg

on an evening darkening into night

 

 

my love is young

the carnations burn in the dark;

she is gone leaving the taste of almonds

her body tastes like almonds

 

 

2 carnations burning red

as she sits far away

now dreaming of china dogs

tinkling through her fingers

 

 

my love is ten thousand carnations burning

my love is a hummingbird sitting that quiet moment

on the bough

as the cat

crouches.

 

 

I feel like a can of sardines, she said.

I feel like a band-aid, I said,

I feel like a tuna fish sandwich, she said.

I feel like a sliced tomato, I said.

I feel like it’s gonna rain, she said.

I feel like the clock has stopped, I said.

I feel like the door’s unlocked, she said.

I feel like an elephant’s gonna walk in, I said.

I feel like we ought to pay the rent, she said.

I feel like we oughta get a job, I said.

I feel like you oughta get a job, she said.

 

 

I don’t feel like working, I said.

 

 

I feel like you don’t care for me, she said.

I feel like we oughta make love, I said.

I feel like we’ve been making too much love, she said.

I feel like we oughta make more love, I said.

I feel like you oughta get a job, she said.

I feel like you oughta get a job, I said.

I feel like a drink, she said.

I feel like a 5th of whiskey, I said.

I feel like we’re going to end up on wine, she said.

I feel like you’re right, I said.

I feel like giving up, she said.

I feel like I need a bath, I said.

I feel like you need a bath too, she said.

I feel like you ought to bathe my back, I said.

I feel like you don’t love me, she said.

I feel like I do love you, I said.

I feel that thing in me now, she said.

I feel that thing in you now too, I said.

I feel like I love you now, she said.

I feel like I love you more than you do me, I said.

I feel wonderful, she said, I feel like screaming.

I feel like going on forever, I said.

I feel like you can, she said.

I feel, I said.

I feel, she said.

 

 

she runs into the front room from outside

laughing,

 

 

well, you always wanted a CRAZY woman,

didn’t you?

hahahaha, ha.

you’ve always been fascinated with CRAZY women,

haven’t you?

hahahaha, ha.

 

 

sit down, I say, I have the coffee water

on.

 

 

we sit by the kitchen window on a Los Angeles

Sunday,

and I say,

 

 

see that man walking by?

 

 

yes, she says.

 

 

know what he’s thinking?

I ask.

 

 

what’s he thinking?

she asks.

 

 

he’s thinking, I say, he’s thinking

that he wants a loaf of bread for

breakfast.

 

 

a loaf of bread for breakfast?

 

 

yes, can you imagine some crazy son of a bitch

wanting a loaf of bread for

breakfast?

 

 

I can’t imagine it.

 

 

I get up and pour the coffees. then

we look at each

 

 

other. something has gone wrong the

night before and we want to find out

if it was her upset stomach

or my diarrhea

or something worse.

 

 

we lift our coffees, touch them in toast,

our eyes spark the question

and we sit by a kitchen window on a Los Angeles

Sunday,

waiting.

 

 

death, he said, let it come,

it was after the races,

zipper on pants broken,

$80 winner

out one woman

he drove through stop signs and

red lights

at 70 m.p.h. on a side street

and then he heard the noise—

he was smashing through a barricade of

street obstructions

boards and lights flying

things jumping on the hood,

the car was thrown against the curbing

and he straightened it just in time

to miss a parked car,

he was drunk but it was the first time in

35 years he had hit anything,

and he ran up a dead end street,

turned, came on out,

took two rights

and 5 minutes later he was inside his

apartment. He got on the phone

and an hour later there were 14 people

drinking with him,

all but the right one,

and the next day he was sick

and she was there

and she said she had lost her purse out of

town ($55 and all her i.d.), 100 miles out of town,

she had gotten tired of waiting for him to phone

or not to phone;

she said, let’s not have any more splits, I can’t

bear them,

and he vomited, and she said,

all you want to do is kill yourself.

he said, all right, no more splits,

but he knew it would happen again and again

right down to the last split,

and he got up and cleaned his mouth and washed

and got back into bed with her

and she held him like a baby,

and he thought, hell, what kind of man am I?

and then he didn’t care

and they kissed

and it was all right until

next time.