Love is a Dog from Hell (17 page)

 

here comes the fishhead singing

here comes the baked potato in drag

 

here comes nothing to do all day long

here comes another night of no sleep

 

here comes the phone ringing the wrong tone

 

here comes a termite with a banjo

here comes a flagpole with blank eyes

here comes a cat and a dog wearing nylons

 

here comes a machinegun singing

here comes bacon burning in the pan

here comes a voice saying something dull

 

here comes a newspaper stuffed with small red birds

with flat brown beaks

 

here comes a cunt carrying a torch

a grenade

a deathly love

 

here comes victory carrying

one bucket of blood

and stumbling over the berrybush

 

and the sheets hang out the windows

 

and the bombers head east west north south

get lost

get tossed like salad

 

as all the fish in the sea line up and form

one line

one long line

one very long thin line

the longest line you could ever imagine

 

and we get lost

walking past purple mountains

 

we walk lost

bare at last like the knife

 

having given

having spit it out like an unexpected olive seed

 

as the girl at the call service

screams over the phone:

“don’t call back! you sound like a jerk!”

 

drinking German beer

and trying to come up with

the immortal poem at

5 p.m. in the afternoon.

but, ah, I’ve told the

students that the thing

to do is not to try.

 

but when the women aren’t

around and the horses aren’t

running

what else is there to do?

 

I’ve had a couple of

sexual fantasies

had lunch out

mailed three letters

been to the grocery store.

nothing on tv.

the telephone is quiet.

I’ve run dental floss

between my teeth.

 

it won’t rain and I listen

to the early arrivals from the

8 hour day as they

drive in and park their cars

behind the apartment

next door.

 

I sit drinking German beer

and trying to come up with the

big one

and I’m not going to make it.

I’m just going to keep drinking

more and more German beer

and rolling smokes

and by 11 p.m.

I’ll be spread out

on the unmade bed

face up

asleep under the electric

light

still waiting on the immortal

poem.

 

I saw her when I was in the left lane

going east on Sunset.

she was sitting

with her legs crossed

reading a paperback.

she was Italian or Indian or

Greek

and I was stopped at a red signal

as now and then a wind

would lift her skirt,

I was directly across from her

looking in,

and such perfect immaculate legs

I had never seen.

I am essentially bashful

but I stared and kept staring

until the person in the car behind

me honked.

 

it had never happened quite like that

before.

I drove around the block

and parked in the supermarket

lot

directly across from her

in my dark shades

I kept staring

like a schoolboy in his first

excitement.

 

I memorized her shoes

her dress

her stockings

her face.

cars came by and blocked my

view.

then I saw her again.

the wind flipped her skirt

high along her thighs

and I began rubbing myself.

just before her bus came

I climaxed.

I smelled my sperm

felt it wet against my shorts

and pants.

 

it was an ugly white bus

and it took her away.

 

I backed out of the parking lot

thinking, I’m a peep-freak

but at least I didn’t expose

myself.

 

I’m a peep-freak

but why do they do that?

why do they look like that?

why do they let the wind do

that?

 

when I got home

I undressed and bathed

got out

toweled

turned on

the news

turned off the news

and

wrote this poem.

 

I used to take the back off

the telephone and stuff it with rags

and when somebody knocked

I wouldn’t answer and if they persisted

I’d tell them in terms vulgar

to vanish.

 

just another old crank

with wings of gold

flabby white belly

plus

eyes to knock out

the sun.

 

I had to take a shit

but instead I went

into this shop to

have a key made.

the woman was dressed

in gingham and smelled

like a muskrat.

“Ralph,” she hollered

and an old swine in a

flowered shirt and

size 6 shoes, her

husband, came out and

she said, “this man

wants a key.”

he started grinding

as if he really didn’t

want to.

there were slinking

shadows and urine

in the air.

I moved along the

glass counter,

pointed and called

to her,

“here, I want this

one.”

she handed it to

me: a switchblade

in a light purple

case.

$6.50 plus tax.

the key cost

practically

nothing.

I got my change and

walked out on

the street.

sometimes you need

people like that.

 

I had this room in front on DeLongpre

and I used to sit for hours

in the daytime

looking out the front

window.

there were any number of girls who would

walk by

swaying;

it helped my afternoons,

added something to the beer and the

cigarettes.

 

one day I saw something

extra.

I heard the sound of it first.

“come on, push!” he said.

there was a long board

about 2½ feet wide and

8 feet long;

nailed to the ends and in the middle

were roller skates.

he was pulling in front

two long ropes attached to the board

and she was in back

guiding and also pushing.

all their possessions were tied to the

board:

pots, pans, bedquilts, and so forth

were roped to the board

tied down;

and the skatewheels were grinding.

 

he was white, red-necked, a

southerner—

thin, slumped, his pants about to

fall from his

ass—

his face pinked by the sun and

cheap wine,

and she was black

and walked upright

pushing;

she was simply beautiful

in turban

long green ear rings

yellow dress

from

neck to

ankle.

her face was gloriously

indifferent.

 

“don’t worry!” he shouted, looking back

at her, “somebody will

rent us a place!”

 

she didn’t answer.

 

then they were gone

although I still heard the

skatewheels.

 

they’re going to make it,

I thought.

 

I’m sure they

did.

 

the roaches spit out

paperclips

and the helicopter circles and circles

smelling for blood

searchlights leering down into our

bedroom

 

5 guys in this court have pistols

another a

machete

we are all murderers and

alcoholics

but there are worse in the hotel

across the street

they sit in the green and white doorway

banal and depraved

waiting to be institutionalized

 

here we each have a small green plant

in the window

and when we fight with our women at 3 a.m.

we speak

softly

and on each porch

is a small dish of food

always eaten by morning

we presume

by the

cats.

 

they took my man off the street

the other day

he wore an L.A. Rams sweatshirt with

the sleeves cut

off

and under that

an army shirt

private first class

and he wore a green beret

walked very straight

he was black in brown walking shorts

hair dyed blonde

he never bothered anybody

he stole a few babies

and ran off cackling

but he always returned the infants

unharmed

he slept in the back of the

Love Parlor

the girls let him.

compassion is found in

strange places.

 

one day I didn’t see him

then another.

I asked around.

 

my taxes are going to go up

again. the state’s got to

house and feed

him. the cops took him

in. no

good.

 

feet of cheese

coffeepot soul

hands that hate poolsticks

eyes like paperclips

I prefer red wine

I am bored on airliners

I am docile during earthquakes

I am sleepy at funerals

I puke at parades

and am sacrificial at chess

and cunt and caring

I smell urine in churches

I can no longer read

I can no longer sleep

 

eyes like paperclips

my green eyes

I prefer white wine

 

my box of rubbers is getting

stale

I take them out

Trojan-Enz

lubricated

for greater sensitivity

I take them out

and put three of them on

 

the walls of my bedroom are blue

 

Linda where did you go?

Katherine where did you go?

(and Nina went to England)

 

I have toenail clippers

and Windex glass cleaner

green eyes

blue bedroom

bright machinegun sun

 

this whole thing is like a seal

caught on oily rocks

and circled by the Long Beach Marching Band

at 3:36 p.m.

 

there is a ticking behind me

but no clock

I feel something crawling along

the left side of my nose:

memories of airliners

 

my mother had false teeth

my father had false teeth

and every Saturday of their lives

they took up all the rugs in their house

waxed the hardwood floors

 

and covered them with rugs again

and Nina is in England

and Irene is on ATD

and I take my green eyes

and lay down in my blue bedroom.