Late night DJ:  (voices in the dark: Dewey, Nordine, Eastwood on Misty, the General, etc whatever)

“Ok you just heard Mammoth Clary with a Sebastion Cabot take on the Old Whompers number Goin’ Down Slow, and that’s for all the boys and girls out there on ship-to-shore radio, digging’ their Zenith with a map, a year-long cruise—that’s nothing for a whaleman, pestilential material, and before that was—On the Western Plains—that’s East Saint Louis, a case of mixed idemnification, you know what I mean, and by now you know why I mean it, but no ones talking right are they? GEE—Haw…it’s 159 degrees outside right now on Jupiter and before that were the Yoho Sink-tea Singers with Stormalong John. Chance of precipitation tonight, 100 percent I mean its raining cats and dodgies out there, decapitation zero, palpitations, even odds and ends, if you’re doin’ it right…Scary Day Blues—if ya did it right you wouldn’t have a problem—I mean—right in the first place—“

“…and that was the new thing from The Mouth, on Odyssey Sync Travelogue Tapes, the Grey Funnel Line. You heard it here first tell Neptune Ahab sent ya—“

“Charlie James you call that GONE—come in here all sideways!—stand out there you gonna get hit, boy! they’`ll be calling it FARMACIDE. King Lear breaks down on the New Jersey Turnpike…’

To the friendless, the windlass and all the ships at sea—this next one was calibrated in road grit—tuned up and tortured on the bow sprit—figurines of ice and sorrow—I don’t mean to go all Norman Rockwell on ya but take a deep breath, pretend it’s Thursday night and you’re chewing some Beechnut Gum—How you getting along Lucy Mae? You’re husbands looking for you! Get yourself a wheel barrel full of hogs an ride ‘em through the front door tell the judge Crimbot said it was alright…”

“This next contender does more by accident than the rest of you do on purpose, Bumble Bee…wanders through deserted rooms where memories hang like tattoos on the exit signs—and loneliness is always by my side—so drink it, freeze it and  eat it I DON’T CARE or mind how you play it…it’s only love that we’re sending  out pure and simple—come home Shorty all is forgiven—but be sure to shave and brush—the glory—I’m comin’ in low and I’m jiggling the joystick— and I know there’s more of me than there was of you—good time charlie was a friend of mine!’

“It’s green outside right now, blackbirds flying’ in a blue light, that means Peter Case and the Ticket Agent, you know what I’m sayin’ you can’t delay it and I ain’t explainin’— Three Fords and the Tooth  singing Let’s Make Up After School…back after this message:

“Back in the days before everything meant something there was the twelve string guitar—illegal possession of marlboros—impersonation of a human being—CRIMBOT the crime robot, folks— twelve forty-nine fifty—ninety eight—here’s to poor people’s radio on your dial shining in the dark it’s the midnight broadcast—and it’s free—a true steeplejack of a man and woman in heartbreak hotel on the palm desert, come on baby,that’s fifty thousand WHATS—twenty thousand hits holyoke of Ellis Dee Jay Johnson…and that’s it coming at you love and peace on the midnight mile and your midnight dial OOOOWHEE!”

Home

1)  puppy

in my arms a warm & quivering vibration of life and heat & emotions—the smell of dust & fields in summertime—a scent of shampoo—the soft funny rising of the ears at sounds  wiggling & waggling & settling into my fold—her eyes are bright & glittering—innocent in their return—the tail a pointed snaky thing—a flag on a stick—black paws—soft & shiny—leathern—and pure white pointed teeth—sharp— a slight little gnawing & your hand is drawing back in a hurry the crunching teeth on a wooden toy—she leaps up & kisses me on the mouth—wetness all over—& pfui—I don’t want her germs in my mouth—but it’s ok & her wet nose against my dry skin—it’s cool—she’s down & running circles until I’m dizzy—spinning & dodging through our feet—barking a high pitched yip & a yowl like talking—I feel calm & happy holding her our love begins to kindle.


2)) friend

teenage wino
with a gentle side
a quiet voice
beautiful eyes
a bottle of boone’s farm
he never gave in
went around barefoot
later in life a gourmet cook
made soup for my mom
& left it on the doorstep
& rang the bell & split
he loved elderly people
he bought a sailboat
took to Lake Erie
in all kinds of weather
he hired on boats as a chef
down in the caribbean
he was writing a book
that no one would ever read
it was a long story 
with a troubled end
a gentle soul
that played hard with itself
rolled his own
from a Bugler can
dropped out of school
a week before graduation
hitch-hiked to Provincetown
I think to see a girl
fathered three kids
wasn’t scared a’ no one
authority defied
thing about Jon is
there’s no one to blame
‘cause if everything was different
it would still be the same

3) piano lessons

she was gentle
treated people with respect
her piano roared symphonic
she stood up straight
thought before she spoke
but she got in trouble 
someone else’s heavy hands

he blacked her eyes
lied to her parents
& she covered it up
in the summertime
a scholarship to music school
promised her freedom
but he tracked her down
she laughed out loud

her parents—cushions & dust
& books on art
such high hopes
but he reeled her in
she got more serious—
& very quiet
some say she even got mean
but I don’t believe it
no one came to her rescue
it was a bad situation
  & none of her fault
she taught me to play
Johann Sebastian Bach
through the wintertime
she’d played with the orchestra
at Marlboro
had a way of holding her hands
I loved her but I was
    just a little too young.




4) keeping the roads open

silver semis glide on asphalt ropes which dangle over bottomless drops—this is known as a highway—boxes upended with air holes shake in the wind braced for kicks—known as community—climbing the ropes in a wind tunnel—known as driving without sleep—putting insects into the popcorn—also known as Top Forty—elbowed by the Rio Grande familiar sensations—the bottom falls out a wet sack—trusting a politician—the big hands on the two the little hands in yr pocket—that’s entertainment—snubbed at the ball that’s amore—grappling with forbidden tongues—picking up the mail—tendons sore from construction—age—the heat’s on—the deck sways—the typhoon roars—elementary my dear penguin.

5) Folsom St.   Nerves —’70’s

a beat up building on Folsom Street
cars rush by late for the freeway
late for the bridge
trash in the street cracks in the window
& every player in the band
    lives on a separate floor
aligned by the window well
A bass amp on the floor
    pressed into service as a coffee table
linoleum asbestos & an old junk tv
    tuned to the all night movies (movies ’til dawn)
a beat up record player & speakers
& my kitty cats torment the puppy
    (who howls when they slap him
        with their claws out stretched)
someone upstairs is yelling again fighting again
round & round shouts down the well
I had an onion Paul had a spud
& we fried ‘em up in oil
with catsup borrowed from Clown Alley
San Francisco—the ’70’s—a city of outlaws
the West—drifters & outsiders
rents are cheap & we’re passing the days
        in a basement
hours of rehearsal while
    the clock tower on a downtown bank
ticking the hours by   ten or sixteen
nothing in the fridge  nothing in the cupboard
no books on the shelf
no money but time
dreaming up songs that somehow limp back
we laugh together it works sometimes
working hard for hours but it’s a lonely group
something out of nothing that’s how to write songs
it’s always amazing when something happens
& I hear them laughing.

6) jail•••

when the door clanks shut that’s jail—in the dark body boiling heart beating fast—trapped in anxiety—the bench is a bed there’s no one through the bars—nowhere to go—waiting is all—the concrete—hard & cold—the door is solid wood with a little window that slides back to reveal eyes the sink & toilet unused five feet to pace in the vibrating memory of all who’ve stood here in guilt and fear—my frail flesh contained by steel—anger directed by dead eyes—my voice surprises me & no one hears it—I’m a mystery to myself—and there’s no one else in sight—listening waiting & reading the nothing scratched on the wall—talk outside approaching steps echo in the hall key in the back with a hollow ring.

7)

My friend she always dressed in rock & roll clothes
that's jeans & heels & jerseys
hair in a perm & black eyes too
couldn’t handle her booze
knees out of the jeans
knew a lot of records
met the sensational Alex Harvey
turned me on to Gram Parsons
also Garland Jeffries
we walked together endlessly
up & down the strip
all the way to Highland
from the Whisky A Go Go
saw the first Wall of Voodoo gig
with fifteen other people
smashing dishes in the kitchen
threw every thing I owned 
    out the window
she was twenty one or two
worked at a real estate office 
the year prop 13 passed
read cosmo 
    & other pretty girl magazines
we had a fold down bed
that came out of the wall
a dingy apartment on Franklin Place
she was a smart kid who drank too much
somehow I phased her out behind a crush
left her alone at home while I wandered
she was working hard
my band was taking off
I’m not sure what the problem was
but it must’ve been me

8)) part II

she kicked the window out in the car
borrowed from my lawyer
a wild look in her eye
angry & unstoppable
she’d laugh her mouth a lipstick O
would talk about her daddy & cry
he was not well with heart disease
& tortured by her mom
I only remember us making making love
a couple of times but
    there must’ve been hundreds
the drink—the time so long ago
once she laughed
& walked on my records in her high heels drunk
she smoked but I can barely remember
I got jealous when I’d hear certain stories
but she understood rock & roll
I spent my time reading a book about Buddy Holly
playing guitar on the couch or in the kitchen
writing songs & taping them while she toiled
the pizza place a slice & a bar
on the stool by the front door
anecdotes return but not flow
unless it’s the walking
walking & walking in Hollywood
miles up to the clubs
the Whisky the Roxy—& back later
always on the outside maybe one foot in
eating at Love’s—and drinking margueritas 
at Love’s or El Coyote
& Saturday mornings
drunk at the Champagne Brunch by A&M
all you can drink!

9)

& she wore perfume not sure what
maybe Chanel but I don’t know
she had a nice body & a pretty face
guess I did too
we were both just kids
listening to Elvis Costello when the record came out
Talking Heads & Ramones
she loved Eddie Cochran & Elvis too
can’t remember cooking tho’ it must’ve been
skirts & blouses & panty hose
worn to work she took a bus
all the way to Sherman Oaks
I ran into her after Lennon was killed
no I’m mixing my years
it was later than that
she lived on the hill downtown
that Fante wrote of
did she take me home or did I meet her there?
up in her room it was in half light
I don’t remember how I got there or when I left
I just remember the feeling of blue remorse
shame at going back to the one I’d left
and the great comfort just being together
we were in bad shape alcohol & drugs 
I ran away after getting my kicks
and I remembered why I’d stayed.

10) cart—rapid hands—under fluorescents—there’s a pen in her pocket and a pad in the apron pouch—the plates are covered in sticky syrup—remnants of yellow egg yokes—the glasses were well mouthed but she moves forward bending over the row cleared area with a wet rag—she’s only five-two so has to reach—stretching out to the corner to map with both hands—her eyes are brighter—her step is more wiry—her laugh is a wheeze she smokes outside in back on her break & talks with the dish-washers.

Priest has a dry look—he’s greying—the lines in his face are deep he listens & waits.

11) what I didn’t know

where the roads through town wound up
how far away you could get in just a little time
people would smile but not mean what they say
others would frown but not let you down
the power of even the smallest creature in the world
I didn’t know why I should go to school
    or why it was time to go home
who shot the Kennedys and Martin Luther King
what they were doing upstairs
made a lot of noise but the sounds were strange
I didn’t know I’d remember you for the rest of my life
I didn’t know I’d regret the way I didn’t step up or out
I was a coward then I didn’t want to be alone
they’d say once a coward always a coward
but I don’t believe it
I never really got back then that we all grow old & die
or how fast the stream of time rolls by
I thought I could handle the juice
but it would manhandle me
I didn’t know how much I’d struggle
    to carry that old guitar
those days we’d traipse across the city long
     with a guitar stretching my arm

12) more things I didn’t know

what the people upstairs were up to
with that crazy electric sound
that the old people hadn’t always been old
that the big war was fought just a few short years before
why he wanted me to move in at the house
we’d stop talking & run
didn’t know the world could feel this dangerous
that he’d be shouting at the end of his speech
how little I’d remember of the things that meant so much
how much I could love a dog
the city I knew vanished when I went down South
a lot of these times would become stories
and the stories  became cliches
I didn’t know they’d have to operate
didn’t know I’d be this tired
didn’t know the trends I thought were bad
    would rise up & take control
I didn’t know I’d need to know your birthday
didn’t know I’d be so blue
didn’t know relief was just a prayer away
I could ask at any time for relief
I could start my day again
didn’t know to start this one right
didn’t know I’d need gratitude.

13)  I didn’t know who was coming down the street
or listening from the back of the room
or that day we said goodbye on Broadway
was the last time that we’d ever meet
didn’t know I’d be wondering about you
didn’t think I could know what to do
life is lived in the moments
lines are collected on scraps
friends are all friends forever
there are places you can’t find on maps
there are secrets that won’t be
I didn’t know I’d have enough money
to survive even tho’ I went broke
I couldn’t see how my mother & father
could have acted that way & not choked
the ones that we paid scant attention
    are the ones who would bring the house down
I didn’t know I coulda taken it easy
    & let the whole world come my way
I was confused & deceived in my thinking
somehow I gave all my power away

14) people in the neighborhood

old Mr. Bonnett had TB & a limp
he was very thin & quiet I think a stroke
on the other side of the little wire fence
in his baggy pants & green work shirt
he’d smile at me& try to say “hi”
but the words didn’t come out well
old Mrs. Valentine was a friend to me as a child
I’d go knock on her door for a visit
she gave me candy and always spoke so kind
lived alone in that house
Mr Valentine had gone
she was the first person I knew that died
I can’t see her face now it’s too long ago
I was a tiny little character its so far back
but when she passed away I cried
Howard Moore & his brother Lee
Lee was a bookie & Howard a drunk
beer & peanuts. the nuts he’d offer to me
    from a little orange bowl as he watched
     the horse race on tv
we kids’d knock on his door & wait ’til he came
     sometimes a very long time
sometimes he’d have us in
or he’d shoo us away
    with “I hear your mother calling”
“I don’t hear her , Howard”
    “She’s calling—she just called again”
Fred Bonnett had a funny old car 
from a foreign country& it never ran
the grass grew up around
    by the white ramshackle garage.

15) waitress clearing a table—a party of six & the remaining dishes are a scattered jumble of wreckage & crumbs & empty glasses  cups & plates—she eyes the mess with no expression but bright eyes beneath a white food service cap she’s wearing a white blouse & skirt, panty hose & flat pumps—a hair net over grey—fingernails long enough to pry fruit from a rind—as she works stacking she watches the door—quick calm glance at the register line—she’s chewing gum I see—little motions like the way rock singers do—was she at woodstock? She moves the dishes onto the...

1)  puppy

in my arms a warm & quivering vibration of life and heat & emotions—the smell of dust & fields in summertime—a scent of shampoo—the soft funny rising of the ears at sounds  wiggling & waggling & settling into my fold—her eyes are bright & glittering—innocent in their return—the tail a pointed snaky thing—a flag on a stick—black paws—soft & shiny—leathern—and pure white pointed teeth—sharp— a slight little gnawing & your hand is drawing back in a hurry the crunching teeth on a wooden toy—she leaps up & kisses me on the mouth—wetness all over—& pfui—I don’t want her germs in my mouth—but it’s ok & her wet nose against my dry skin—it’s cool—she’s down & running circles until I’m dizzy—spinning & dodging through our feet—barking a high pitched yip & a yowl like talking—I feel calm & happy holding her our love begins to kindle.


2)) Jon

teenage wino
with a gentle side
a quiet voice
beautiful eyes
a bottle of boone’s farm
he never gave in
went around barefoot
later in life a gourmet cook
made soup for my mom
& left it on the doorstep
& rang the bell & split
he loved elderly people
he bought a sailboat
took to Lake Erie
in all kinds of weather
he hired on boats as a chef
down in the caribbean
he was writing a book
that no one would ever read
it was a long story 
with a troubled end
a gentle soul
that played hard with itself
rolled his own
from a Bugler can
dropped out of school
a week before graduation
hitch-hiked to Provincetown
I think to see a girl
fathered three kids
wasn’t scared a’ no one
authority defied
thing about Jon is
there’s no one to blame
‘cause if everything was different
it would still be the same.

3) piano lessons

she was gentle
treated people with respect
her piano roared symphonic
she stood up straight
thought before she spoke
but she got in trouble 
someone else’s heavy hands

he blacked her eyes
lied to her parents
& she covered it up
in the summertime
a scholarship to music school
promised her freedom
but he tracked her down
she laughed out loud

her parents—cushions & dust
& books on art
such high hopes
but he reeled her in
she got more serious—
& very quiet
some say she even got mean
but I don’t believe it
no one came to her rescue
it was bad situation
  & none of her fault
she taught me to play
Johann Sebastian Bach
through the wintertime
she’d played with the orchestra
at Tanglewood
had a way of holding her hands
I loved her but I was
    just a little too young.




4) keeping the roads open

silver semis glide on asphalt ropes which dangle over bottomless drops—this is known as a highway—boxes upended with air holes shake in the wind braced for kicks—known as community—climbing the ropes in a wind tunnel—known as driving without sleep—putting insects into the popcorn—also known as Top Forty—elbowed by the Rio Grande familiar sensations—the bottom falls out a wet sack—trusting a politician—the big hands on the two the little hands in yr pocket—that’s entertainment—snubbed at the ball that’s amore—grappling with forbidden tongues—picking up the mail—tendons sore from construction—age—the heat’s on—the deck sways—the typhoon roars—elementary my dear penguin.

5) Folsom St.   Nerves —’70’s

a beat up building on Folsom Street
cars rush by late for the freeway
late for the bridge
trash in the street cracks in the window
& every player in the band
    lives on a separate floor
aligned by the window well
A bass amp on the floor
    pressed into service as a coffee table
linoleum asbestos & an old junk tv
    tuned to the all night movies (movies ’til dawn)
a beat up record player & speakers
& my kitty cats torment the puppy
    (who howls when they slap him
        with their claws out stretched)
& Jack & Connie are yelling again fighting again
round & round shouts down the well
I had an onion Paul had a spud
& we fried ‘em up in oil
with catsup borrowed from Clown Alley
San Francisco—the ’70’s—a city of outlaws
the West—drifters & outsiders
rents are cheap & we’re passing the days
        in a basement
hours of rehearsal while
    the clock tower on a downtown bank
ticking the hours by   ten or sixteen
nothing in the fridge  nothing in the cupboard
no books on the shelf
no money but time
dreaming up songs that somehow limp back
we laugh together it works sometimes
working hard for hours but it’s a lonely group
something out of nothing that’s how to write songs
it’s always amazing when something happens
& I hear them laughing.

6) jail•••

when the door clanks shut that’s jail—in the dark body boiling heart beating fast—trapped in anxiety—the bench is a bed there’s no one through the bars—nowhere to go—waiting is all—the concrete—hard & cold—the door is solid wood with a little window that slides back to reveal eyes the sink & toilet unused five feet to pace in the vibrating memory of all who’ve stood here in guilt and fear—my frail flesh contained by steel—anger directed by dead eyes—my voice surprises me & no one hears it—I’m a mystery to myself—and there’s no one else in sight—listening waiting & reading the nothing scratched on the wall—talk outside approaching steps echo in the hall key in the back with a hollow ring.

7)

My friend she always dressed in rock & roll clothes
that's jeans & heels & jerseys
hair in a perm & black eyes too
couldn’t handle her booze
knees out of the jeans
knew a lot of records
met the sensational Alex Harvey
turned me on to Gram Parsons
also Garland Jeffries
we walked together endlessly
up & down the strip
all the way to Highland
from the Whisky A Go Go
saw the first Wall of Voodoo gig
with fifteen other people
smashing dishes in the kitchen
threw every thing I owned 
    out the window
she was twenty one or two
worked at a real estate office 
the year prop 13 passed
read cosmo 
    & other pretty girl magazines
we had a fold down bed
that came out of the wall
a dingy apartment of Franklin Place
she was a smart kid who drank too much
somehow I phased her out behind a crush
left her alone at home while I wandered
she was working hard
my band was taking off
I’m not sure what the problem was
but it must’ve been me

8)) part II

she kicked the window out in the car
borrowed from my lawyer
a wild look in her eye
angry & unstoppable
she’s laugh her mouth a lipstick O
would talk about her daddy & cry
he was not well with heart disease
& tortured by her mom
I only remember us making making love
a couple of times but
    there must’ve been hundreds
the drink—the time so long ago
once she laughed
& walked on my records in her high heels drunk
she smoked but I can barley remember
I got jealous when I’d hear certain stories
but she understood rock & roll
I spent my time reading a book about Buddy Holly
playing guitar on the couch or in the kitchen
writing songs & taping them while she toiled
the pizza place a slice & a bar
on the stool by the front door
anecdotes return but not flow
unless it’s the walking
walking & walking in Hollywood
miles up to the clubs
the Whisky the Roxy—& back later
always on the outside maybe one foot in
eating at Love’s—and drinking margueritas 
at Love’s or El Coyote
& Saturday mornings
drunk at the Champagne Brunch by A&M
all you can drink!

9)

& she wore perfume not sure what
maybe Chanel but I don’t know
she had a nice body & a pretty face
we were both just kids
listening to Elvis Costello when the record came out
Talking Heads & Ramones
she loved Eddie Cochran & Elvis too
can’t remember cooking tho’ it must’ve been
skirts & blouses & panty hose
worn to work she took a bus
all the way to Sherman Oaks
I ran into her after Lennon was killed
no I’m mixing my years
it was later than that
she lived on the hill downtown
that Fante wrote of
did she take me home or did I meet her there?
up in her room it was in half light
I don’t remember how I got there or when I left
I just remember the feeling of blue remorse
shame at going back to the one I’d left
and the great comfort of our bodies together
we were in bad shape alcohol & drugs 
I ran away after getting my kicks
and I remembered why I’d stayed.

10) cart—rapid hands—under fluorescents—there’s a pen in her pocket and a pad in the apron pouch—the plates ere covered in sticky syrup—remnants of yellow egg yokes—the glasses were well mouthed but she moves forward bending over the row cleared area with a wet rag—she’s only five-two so has to reach—stretching out to the corner to map with both hands—her eyes are brighter—her step is more wiry—her laugh is a wheeze she smokes outside in back on her break & talks with the dish-washers.

Priest has a dry look—he’s greying—the lines in his face are deep he listens & waits.

11) what I didn’t know

where the roads through town wound up
how far away you could get in just a little time
people would smile but not mean what they say
others would frown but not let you down
the power of even the smallest creature in the world
I didn’t know why I should go to school
    or why it was time to go home
who shot the Kennedys and Martin Luther King
what they were doing upstairs
made a lot of noise but the sounds were strange
I didn’t know I’d remember you for the rest of my life
I didn’t know I’d regret the way I didn’t step up or out
I was a coward then I didn’t want to be alone
they’d say once a coward always a coward
I never really got back then that we all grow old & die
or how fast the stream of time rolls by
I thought I could handle the juice
but it would manhandle me
I didn’t know how much I’d struggle
    to carry that old guitar
those days we’d traipse across the city long
     with a guitar stretching my arm

12) more things I didn’t know

what the people upstairs were up to
with that crazy electric sound
that the old people hadn’t always been old
that the big war was fought just a few short years before
why he wanted me to move in at the house
we’d stop talking & run
didn’t know the world could feel this dangerous
that he’d be shouting at the end of his speech
how little I’d remember of the things that meant so much
how much I could love a dog
the city I knew vanished when I went down South
a lot of these times would become stories
and the stories  became cliches
I didn’t know they’d have to operate
didn’t know I’d be this tired
didn’t know the trends I though were bad
    would rise up & take control
I didn’t know I’d need to know your birthday
didn’t know I’d be so blue
didn’t know relief was just a prayer away
I could ask at any time for relief
I could start my day again
didn’t know to start this one right
didn’t know I’d need gratitude.

13)  I didn’t know who was coming down the street
or listening from the back of the room
or that day we said goodbye on Broadway
was the last time that we’d ever meet
didn’t know I’d be wondering about you
didn’t think I could know what to do
life is lived in the moments
lines are collected on scraps
friends are all friends forever
there are places you can’t find on maps
there are secrets that won’t be
I didn’t know I’d have enough money
to survive even tho’ I went broke
I couldn’t see how my mother & father
could have acted that way & not choked
the ones that we paid scant attention
    are the ones who would bring the house down
I didn’t know I coulda taken it easy
    & let the whole world come my way
I was confused & deceived in my thinking
somehow I gave all my power away

14) people in the neighborhood

old Mr. Bonnett had TB & a limp
he was very thin & quiet I think a stroke
on the other side of the little wire fence
in his baggy pants & green work shirt
he’d smile at me& try to say “hi”
but the words didn’t come out well
old Mrs. Valentine was a friend to me as a child
I’d go knock on her door for a visit
she gave me candy and always spoke so kind
lived alone in that house
Mr Valentine had gone
she was the first person I knew that died
I can’t see her face now it’s too long ago
I was a tiny little character its so far back
but when she passed away I cried
Howard Moore & his brother Lee
Lee was a bookie & Howard a drunk
beer & peanuts. the nuts he’d offer to me
    from a little orange bowl as he watched
     the horse race on tv
we kids’d knock on his door & wait ’til he came
     sometimes a very long time
sometimes he’d have us in
or he’d shoo us away
    with “I hear your mother calling”
“I don’t hear her , Howard”
    “She’s calling—she just called again”
Fred Bonnett had a funny old car 
from a foreign country& it never ran
the grass grew up around
    by the white ramshackle garage.

15) waitress clearing a table—a party of six & the remaining dishes are a scattered jumble of wreckage & crumbs & empty glasses  cups & plates—she eyes the mess with no expression but bright eyes beneath a white food service cap she’s wearing a white blouse & skirt, pang hose & flat pumps—a hair net over grey—fingernails long enough to pry fruit from a rind—as she works stacking she watches the door—quick calm glance at the register line—she’s chewing gum I see—little motions like the way rock singers do—was she at woodstock? She moves the dishes onto the...