Mockingbird Wish Me Luck (4 page)

 

absolutely sesamoid

said the skeleton

shoving his chalky foot

upon my desk,

and that was it,

bang bang,

he looked at me,

and it was my bone body

and I was what remained,

and there was a newspaper

on my desk

and somebody folded the newspaper

and I folded,

I was the newspaper

under somebody’s arm

and the sheet of me

had eyes

and I saw the skeleton

watching

and just before the door closed

I saw a man who looked

partly like Napoleon,

partly like Hitler,

fighting with my skeleton,

then the door closed

and we went down the steps

and outside

and I was under

the arm

of a fat little man

who knew nothing

and I hated him

for his indifference

to fact, how I hated him

as he unfolded me

in the subway

and I fell against the back

of an old woman.

 

 

5 men in black passing my window

it’s Sunday

they’ve been to church.

 

 

5 men in black passing my window;

they’re between 40 and 60

each with a little smile on his face

like a tarantula.

 

 

they’re without women;

I am too.

 

 

look at them,

it’s the way they walk by fives—

no two together,

not speaking,

just the little smiles.

 

 

each has done his horrible thing

during the week—

fired a stockboy, stolen from a partner;

cowardly horrible little men

passing my window.

 

 

5 men in black with little

smiles.

 

 

I could machinegun them

without feeling

banal

 

 

bury them without a tear:

death of all these things

Springtime.

 

 

there was one

made a thousand dollars

one day

in a town no larger than

El Paso

jumping taxies between

universities and ladies’

clubs.

 

 

hell, you can’t blame him;

I’ve worked for $16 a week,

quit, and lived a month on

that.

 

 

his wife is suing for divorce

and wants $200 a week

alimony.

 

 

he has to stay famous and

keep

talking.

 

 

I see his work

everywhere.

 

 

god I got the sad blue blues,

this woman sat there and she

said

are you really Charles

Bukowski?

and I said

forget that

I do not feel good

I’ve got the sad sads

all I want to do is

fuck you

 

 

and she laughed

she thought I was being

clever

and O I just looked up her long slim legs of heaven

I saw her liver and her quivering intestine

I saw Christ in there

jumping to a folk-rock

 

 

all the long lines of starvation within me

rose

and I walked over

and grabbed her on the couch

ripped her dress up around her face

 

 

and I didn’t care

rape or the end of the earth

one more time

to be there

anywhere

real

 

 

yes

her panties were on the

floor

and my cock went in

my cock my god my cock went in

 

 

I was Charles

Somebody.

 

 

look, he said, that story,

everybody knew it was me.

 

 

by god, I said, are you still

hacking at that?

I thought you were going to write a

story exposing
me
?

what happened to that?

 

 

you didn’t have to write that

story about me!

 

 

forget it, I said, it’s not

important.

 

 

he leaped and slammed the door;

the glass didn’t break

but the curtain rod and curtain

fell.

 

 

I tried to finish a one-act play

gave up

and went to bed.

 

 

the phone rang.

 

 

listen, he said, when I came over

I had no idea I’d act like

that.

 

 

it’s o.k., I said.

relax.

 

 

I leaned back to sleep and I

thought,

now I’ll probably write a poem about

him.

 

 

there seems to be no way out, I thought,

everybody is always angry about the truth

even though they claim to

believe in it.

 

 

I slept and wrote the poem

in the morning.

 

 

long walks at

night—

that’s what’s good

for the

soul:

peeking into windows

watching tired

housewives

trying to fight

off

their beer-maddened

husbands.

 

 

comfrock, you motherfuck

get up off your crazy knees

and I’ll belt you down

again—

what’s that?

you say I eat stem pipes?

I’ll kill you!

 

 

stop crying. god damn.

all right, we dumped your car into the sea

and raped your daughter

but we are only extending the possibilities of a working

realism, shut up!, I said

any man must be ready for anything and

if he isn’t then he isn’t a

man a goat a note or a plantleaf,

you shoulda known the entirety of the trap, asshole,

love means eventual pain

victory means eventual defeat

grace means eventual slovenliness,

there’s no way

out…you see, you

understand?

 

 

hey, Mickey, hold his head up

want to break his nose with this pipe…

god damn, I almost forgot the

nose!

death is every second, punk.

the calendar is death. the sheets are death. you put on your

stockings: death. buttons on your shirt are death.

lace sportshirts are death. don’t you smell it? temperature is

death. little girls are death. free coupons are death. carrots are

death. didn’t you

know?

 

 

o.k., Mack, we got the nose.

no, not the balls, too much bleeding.

what was he
when
? oh, yeah, he used to be a cabby

we snatched him from his cab

right off Madison, destroyed his home, his car, raped his

12 year old daughter, it was beautiful, burned his wife with

gasoline.

look at his eyes

begging mercy…

 

 

56, she leans

forward

in the kitchen

2:25 a.

m.

same red

sweater

holes in

elbows

 

 

cook him something to

EAT

he says

from the

same red

face

 

 

3 years ago

we broke down a tree

fighting

after he caught me

kissing

her.

 

 

beer by the

quarts

we drink

bad beer

by the

quarts

 

 

she gets up

and

begins to

fry

something

 

 

all night

we sings songs

songs from 1925 a.

d. to

1939 a.

d.

 

 

we talk about

short skirts

Cadillacs the

Republican Administration

the depression

taxes

horses

Oklahoma

 

 

here

you son of a bitch,

she says.

 

 

drunk

I lean forward and

eat.

 

 

Bartenders are human too

and when he reached for the baseball bat

the little Italian hit him in the face

with a bottle

and several whores screamed.

I was just coming out

of the men’s room

when I saw the bartender

get off the floor

and open the cigar box

to get the gun,

and I turned around

and went out back,

and the Italian

must have argued poorly

because I heard the shot

just as I got

the car door open.

 

 

I drove down the alley

and turned East on 7th st.,

and I hadn’t gone a block

before a cop pulled me over.

 

 

You trying to get killed?

he asked. Turn your lights

on.

 

 

He was a big fat one and he

kept pushing his helmet

further and further

on the back of his head.

 

 

I took the ticket and then

drove down to Union. I

parked outside the Reno Hotel

and went downstairs

to Harry’s.

It was quiet there, only

a big redhead, bigger

than the cop.

 

 

She called me Honey

and I ordered 2.