Come On In (6 page)

fuck

the phone rings once

stops

fuck

I am on top

we roll off to the side

fuck

she throws one leg over

and plays with her clit

while I harpoon her

fuck

the dog scratches on the door

won’t stop

I get up and let him in

then it’s time to

suck

she’s got it in her mouth

not the dog

me

suck suck

the doorbell rings

a man selling mops made by the blind

we buy a mop for eleven dollars with a little gadget

that squeezes out the water

fuck

now it’s up again

I’m on top again

the phone rings

a girlfriend of hers from Stockton

they talk for ten minutes

finish

I am reading the sports section when

she comes back with a bowl of grapes and

I hand her the woman’s page

no fuck. 

she was a married woman

and she wrote sad

and futile poems

about her married life.

her many letters to me

were the same: sad

and repetitive and

futile. 

we exchanged letters for

some years.

I was depressed and suicidal

and had had nothing but

bad luck

with women

so I continued to write

her

thinking, well, maybe

this way

no ill will come to

either one of us. 

but

one night suddenly

she was in town, she

phoned me:

“I’m at a meeting of

The Chaparral Poets of

California!” 

“o.k.,” I said, “good

luck.” 

“I mean,” she asked,

“don’t you want to

see me?”

“oh, yeah …” 

she told me she would be

waiting at a certain bar

in Pasadena. 

I had half a glass of

whiskey, 2 cans of beer

and

set out. 

I found the bar, went

in.

there she was (she had

sent photos) the little

housewife giddy on

martinis.

I sat down beside

her. 

“oh my god,” she said, “it’s
you
!

I just can’t believe it!” 

I ordered a couple of drinks from

the barkeep. 

she kissed me right there, tongue

and all. 

we had a couple more drinks

then got into my car

and with her

holding my cock

I drove the freeway

back to my place

where I sat her down.

she began talking about

poetry

but I got her back

into the bedroom

got her down onto the bed

and stripped down

except for the

panties.

I had never seen

such a

beautiful body. 

I began to slip the

panties off but she

said, “no, no, I can TELL

you’re very POTENT, you’ll make

me PREGNANT!”

“well,” I said, “what the hell!” 

I rolled over then and went to

sleep. 

the next morning

I drove her back to her

Chaparral Poets of

California. 

as the weeks and months

went on

her letters kept arriving.

I answered some, then

stopped. 

but her letters kept coming.

there wasn’t much news

but many photos: photos of

her children, photos of her,

there was one photo of her

sitting alone on a rock

by the seashore. 

then the letters were fewer and

fewer and then they stopped. 

add some years

some other women

many changes of address

and one day

a new letter found

its way to

me: 

the children were grown

and gone.

her husband had lost his

part of the business, his

partners had knifed

him,

they were going to have to

sell the house. 

I answered that

letter. 

two or three weeks

passed.

her next letter said

that there was a divorce and

it was final.

she enclosed a photo.

I didn’t know who it

was at first.

182 pounds. she said

she’d been living on

submarine sandwiches and

refried beans and was

looking for a job.

never had a job.

she could only type

23 w.p.m.

she enclosed a small

chapbook of her poems

inscribed “Love.” 

I should have fucked her that

long-ago night.

I should have been a

dog. 

it would have been one good

night for each of us, especially

for me

stuck between suicide and

insanity

in bed with the beautiful

housewife.

I had never seen a body like

hers before. 

now I don’t even have

her letters.

there are nearly a hundred

of them

somewhere 

and this is

a sad futile poem

about it

all. 

it is only

once in a while

that you see

someone whose

electricity

and presence

matches yours

at that

moment 

and then

usually it’s

a stranger. 

it was 3 or 4

years ago

I was walking on

Sunset Boulevard

toward Vermont

when

a block away

I noticed a

figure moving

toward me. 

there was something

in her carriage

and in her walk

which

attracted

me. 

as we came

closer

the intensity

increased. 

suddenly

I knew her

entire history:

she had lived

all her life

with men

who had never really

known her. 

as she approached

I became almost

dizzy. 

I could hear her

footsteps as

she approached. 

I looked into

her face. 

she was as

beautiful

as I had

imagined she

would be. 

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. 

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,” 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. 

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.

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 himself away, completely

fucked himself

away. 

and I still had all mine

left!