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I’d be, my car

waiting to get me to Miriam who sat on my blue couch

with scotch on the rocks

crossing her legs and swinging her ankles

like she did,

2 more stops…

the truck stalled at a traffic light, it was hell

kicking it over

again…

I had to be home by 8, 8 was the deadline for Miriam.

I made the last pickup and the truck stalled at a signal

1/2 block from the station…

it wouldn’t start, it couldn’t start…

I locked the doors, pulled the key and ran down to the

station…

I threw the keys down…. signed out…

your goddamned truck is stalled at the signal,

I shouted,

Pico and Western…

…I ran down the hall, put the key into the door,

opened it…. her drinking glass was there, and a note:

sun of a bitch:

I wated until 5 after ate

you don’t love me

you sun of a bitch

somebody will love me

I been wateing all day

Miriam

I poured a drink and let the water run into the tub

there were 5,000 bars in town

and I’d make 25 of them

looking for Miriam

her purple teddy bear held the note

as he leaned against a pillow

I gave the bear a drink, myself a drink

and got into the hot

water.

who in the hell is Tom Jones?

I was shacked with a

24-year-old girl from

New York City for

two weeks—about

the time of the garbage

strike out there, and

one night my 34-year-

old woman arrived and

she said, “I want to see

my rival.” she did

and then she said, “o,

you’re a cute little thing!”

next I knew there was a

screech of wildcats—

such screaming and scratching, wounded animal moans,

blood and piss…

I was drunk and in my

shorts. I tried to

separate them and fell,

wrenched my knee. then

they were through the screen

door and down the walk

and out in the street.

squad cars full of cops

arrived. a police helicopter circled overhead.

I stood in the bathroom

and grinned in the mirror.

it’s not often at the age

of 55 that such splendid

things occur.

better than the Watts

riots.

the 34-year-old

came back in. she had

pissed all over her-

self and her clothing

was torn and she was

followed by 2 cops who

wanted to know why.

pulling up my shorts

I tried to explain.

the price

drinking 15-dollar champagne—

Cordon Rouge—with the hookers.

one is named Georgia and she

doesn’t like pantyhose:

I keep helping her pull up

her long dark stockings.

the other is Pam—prettier

but not much soul, and

we smoke and talk and I

play with their legs and

stick my bare foot into

Georgia’s open purse.

it’s filled with

bottles of pills. I

take some of the pills.

“listen,” I say, “one of

you has soul, the other

looks. can’t I combine

the 2 of you? take the soul

and stick it into the looks?”

“you want me,” says Pam, “it

will cost you a hundred.”

we drink some more and Georgia

falls to the floor and can’t

get up.

I tell Pam that I like her

earrings very much. her

hair is long and a natural

red.

“I was only kidding about the

hundred,” she says.

“oh,” I say, “what will it cost

me?”

she lights her cigarette with

my lighter and looks at me

through the flame:

her eyes tell me.

“look,” I say, “I don’t think I

can ever pay that price again.”

she crosses her legs

inhales on her cigarette

as she exhales she smiles

and says, “sure you can.”

I’m in love

she’s young, she said,

but look at me, I have pretty ankles,

and look at my wrists, I have pretty

wrists

o my god,

I thought it was all working,

and now it’s her again,

every time she phones you go crazy,

you told me it was over

you told me it was finished,

listen, I’ve lived long enough to become a

good woman,

why do you need a bad woman?

you need to be tortured, don’t you?

you think life is rotten if somebody treats you

rotten it all fits,

doesn’t it?

tell me, is that it? do you want to be treated like a

piece of shit?

and my son, my son was going to meet you.

I told my son

and I dropped all my lovers.

I stood up in a cafe and screamed

I’M IN LOVE,