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• Classic-Fiction

to them. “Jesus Christ, I forgot all about

it…”

for some reason they’d get

angry. then the payroll clerk would come

around. I’d have two

checks. “Jesus,” I’d say, “two checks.”

and they were

angry.

some of them were working

two jobs.

the worst day

it was raining very hard,

I didn’t have a raincoat so

I put on a very old coat I hadn’t worn for

months and

I walked in a little late

while they were working.

I looked in the coat for some

cigarettes

and found a 5 dollar bill

in the side pocket:

“hey, look,” I said, “I just found a 5 dollar

bill I didn’t know I had, that’s

funny.”

“hey, man, knock off the

shit!”

“no, no, I’m serious, really, I remember

wearing this coat when

I got drunk at the

bars. I’ve been rolled too often,

I’ve got this fear…I take money out of

my wallet and hide it all

over me.”

“sit down and get to

work.”

I reached into an inside pocket:

“hey, look, here’s a TWENTY! God, here’s a

TWENTY I never knew I

had! I’m

RICH!”

“you’re not funny, son of

a bitch…”

“hey, my God, here’s ANOTHER

twenty! too much, too too

much…I knew I didn’t spend all that

money that night. I thought I’d been

rolled again…”

I kept searching the

coat. “hey! here’s a ten and

here’s a fiver! my God…”

“listen, I’m telling you to sit down

and shut up…”

“my God, I’m RICH…I don’t even need

this job…”

“man, sit down…”

I found another ten after I sat down

but I didn’t say

anything.

I could feel waves of hatred and

I was confused,

they believed I had

plotted the whole thing

just to make them

feel bad. I didn’t want

to. people who live on hot dogs and

potato chips for

3 days before payday

feel bad

enough.

I sat down

leaned forward and

began to go to

work.

outside

it continued to

rain.

sitting in a sandwich joint

my daughter is most

glorious.

we are eating a takeout

snack in my car

in Santa Monica.

I say, “hey, kid,

my life has been

good, so good.”

she looks at me.

I put my head down

on the steering wheel,

shudder, then I

kick the door open,

put on a

mock-puke.

I straighten up.

she laughs

biting into her

sandwich.

I pick up four

french fries

put them into my mouth,

chew them.

it’s 5:30 p.m.

and the cars run up

and down past us.

I sneak a look:

we’ve got all the

luck we need:

her eyes are brilliant with the

remainder of the

day, and she’s

grinning.

doom and siesta time

my friend is worried about dying

he lives in Frisco

I live in L.A.

he goes to the gym and

works with the iron and hits

the big bag.

old age diminishes him.

he can’t drink because of

his liver.

he can do

50 pushups.

he writes me

letters

telling me

that I’m the only one

who listens to him.

sure, Hal, I answer him

on a postcard.

but I don’t want to pay

all those gym fees.

I go to bed

with a liverwurst and

onion sandwich at

one p.m.

after I eat I

nap

with the helicopters

and vultures

circling over my

sagging mattress.

as crazy as I ever was

drunk and writing poems

at 3 a.m.

what counts now

is one more

tight

pussy

before the light

tilts out

drunk and writing poems

at 3:15 a.m.

some people tell me that I’m

famous.

what am I doing alone

drunk and writing poems at

3:18 a.m.?

I’m as crazy as I ever was

they don’t understand

that I haven’t stopped hanging out of 4th floor

windows by my heels—

I still do

right now

sitting here

writing this down

I am hanging by my heels

floors up:

68, 72, 101,

the feeling is the

same:

relentless

unheroic and

necessary

sitting here

drunk and writing poems

at 3:24 a.m.

sex

I am driving down Wilton Avenue

when this girl of about 15

dressed in tight blue jeans

that grip her behind like two hands

steps out in front of my car

I stop to let her cross the street

and as I watch her contours waving

she looks directly through my windshield

at me

with purple eyes

and then blows

out of her mouth

the largest pink globe of

bubble gum

I have ever seen

while I am listening to Beethoven

on the car radio.

she enters a small grocery store