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3 day hangover. I lost the envelope

but I took the letter and folded it

into a paper airplane such as

I had learned to make in grammar

school. it sailed about the room

before landing between an old Racing Form

and a pair of shit-stained shorts.

we have not corresponded since.

rain or shine

the vultures at the zoo

(all 3 of them)

sit very quietly in their

caged tree

and below

on the ground

are chunks of rotting meat.

the vultures are over-full.

our taxes have fed them

well.

we move on to the next

cage.

a man is in there

sitting on the ground

eating

his own shit.

I recognize him as

our former mailman.

his favorite expression

had been:

“have a beautiful day.”

that day, I did.

cold plums

eating cold plums in bed

she told me about the German

who owned everything on the block

except the custom drapery shop

and he tried to buy

the custom drapery shop

but the girls said, no.

the German had the best grocery store in

Pasadena, his meats were high

but worth the price

and his vegetables and produce were

very cheap and

he also sold flowers. people came

from all over Pasadena to go to his

store

but he wanted to buy the custom drapery shop

and the girls kept saying, no.

one night somebody was seen running

out the back door of the drapery shop

and there was a fire

and almost everything was destroyed—

they’d had a tremendous inventory,

they tried to save what was left

had a fire sale

but it didn’t work

they had to sell, finally,

and then the German owned the drapery shop

but it just sits there, vacant,

the German’s wife tried to make a go of it

she tried to sell little baskets and things

but it didn’t work.

we finished the plums.

“that was a sad story,” I told her.

then she bent down and began sucking me off.

the windows were open and you could hear me

hollering all over the neighborhood

at 5:30 in the evening.

girls coming home

the girls are coming home in their cars

and I sit by the window and

watch.

there’s a girl in a red dress

driving a white car

there’s a girl in a blue dress

driving a blue car.

there’s a girl in a pink dress

driving a red car.

as the girl in the red dress

gets out of the white car

I look at her legs

as the girl in the blue dress

gets out of the blue car

I look at her legs

as the girl in the pink dress

gets out of the red car

I look at her legs.

the girl in the red dress

who got out of the white car

had the best legs

the girl in the pink dress

who got out of the red car

had average legs

but I keep remembering the girl in the blue dress

who got out of the blue car

I saw her panties

you don’t know how exciting life can get

around here

at 5:35 p.m.

some picnic

which reminds me

I shacked with Jane for 7 years

she was a drunk

I loved her

my parents hated her

I hated my parents

we made a nice

foursome

one day we went on a picnic

together

up in the hills

and we played cards and drank beer and

ate potato salad

they treated her as if she were a living person

at last

everybody laughed

I didn’t laugh.

later at my place

over the whiskey

I said to her,

I don’t like them

but it’s good they treated you

nice.

you damn fool, she said,

don’t you see?

see what?

they kept looking at my beer-belly,

they think I’m pregnant.

oh, I said, well here’s to our beautiful

child.

here’s to our beautiful child,

she said.

we drank them down.

bedpans

in the hospitals I’ve been in

you see the crosses on the walls

with the thin palm leaves behind them

yellowed and browned

it is the signal to accept the inevitable

but what really hurts

are the bedpans

hard under your ass

you’re dying

and you’re supposed to sit up on this

impossible thing

and urinate and

defecate

while in the bed

next to yours

a family of 5 brings good cheer

to an incurable

heart-case

cancer-case

or a case of general rot.

the bedpan is a merciless rock

a horrible mockery

because nobody wants to drag your failing body

to the crapper and back.

you’d drag it

but they’ve