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• Classic-Fiction

we rejuvenate

as the lights of the city

blink below,

as the dark tree

holding the mockingbird

watches over us,

and as the world,

from here,

looks as good as it ever

will.

close encounters of another kind

are we going to the movies or not?

she asked him.

all right, he said, let’s go.

I’m not going to put any pan ties on

so you can finger-fuck me in the

dark, she said.

should we get buttered popcorn?

he asked.

sure, she said.

leave your pan ties on,

he said.

what is it? she asked.

I just want to watch the movie,

he answered.

look, she said, I could go out on

the street, there are a hundred men

out there who’d be delighted to have

me.

all right, he said, go ahead out there.

I’ll stay home and read the National

Enquirer.

you son of a bitch, she said, I am

trying to build a meaningful

relationship.

you can’t build it with a hammer,

he said.

are we going to the movies or not?

she asked.

all right, he said, let’s

go…

at the corner of Western and

Franklin he put on the blinker

to make his left turn

and a man in the on-coming lane

speeded up

as if to cut him off.

brakes grabbed. there wasn’t a

crash but there almost was one.

he cursed at the man in the other

car. the man cursed back. the

man had another person in the car with

him. it was his wife.

they were going to the movies

too.

drying out

we buy the scandal sheets at the supermarket

get into bed and eat pretzels and read as outside

the church bells ring and the dogs bark

we turn on the tv and watch very bad movies

then she goes down and brings up ice cream

and we eat the ice cream and she says,

“tomorrow night is trash night.”

then the cat jumps up on the bed

drops its tongue out and stands there

glistening cross-eyed

the phone rings and it is her mother and she

talks to her mother

she hands me the phone

I tell her mother that it’s too bad it’s freezing

back there

it’s about 85 here and,

yes, I’m feeling well and

I hope you’re feeling well too

I hand the phone back

she talks some more

then hangs up

“mother is a very brave woman,” she tells me

I tell her that I’m sure her mother is

the cat is still standing there glistening

cross-eyed

I push it down onto the covers

“well,” she says, “we’ve gone two nights without

drinking.”

“good,” I say, “but tomorrow night I’m going to

do it.”

“ah, come on,” she says

“you don’t have to drink,” I tell her, “just because

I do.”

“like hell,” she says

she flips the remote control switch until she comes to a

Japanese monster movie

“I think we’ve seen this one,” I say

“you didn’t see it with me,” she says, “who did you

see it with?”

“you were laying with me, right here, when we saw it,”

I tell her

“I don’t think I remember this one,” she says

“you just keep watching,” I tell her

we keep watching

I’m not so sure anymore

but it’s a peaceful night as we watch this big thing

kick the shit out of half of Tokyo.

scene from 1940:

“I knew you were a bad-ass,” he said.

“you sat in the back of Art class and

you never said anything.

then I saw you in that brutal fight

with the guy with the dirty yellow

hair.

I like guys like you, you’re rare, you’re

raw, you make your own rules!”

“get your fucking face out of mine!”

I told him.

“you see?” he said. “you see?”

he disgusted me.

I turned and walked off.

he had outwitted me:

praise was the only thing I couldn’t

handle.

the area of pause

you have to have it or the walls will close

in.

you have to give everything up, throw it

away, everything away.

you have to look at what you look at

or think what you think

or do what you do

or

don’t do

without considering personal

advantage

without accepting guidance.

people are worn away with

striving,

they hide in common

habits.

their concerns are herd

concerns.

few have the ability to stare

at an old shoe for

ten minutes

or to think of odd things