Justification
I hate
hustlers
and would never
set a price
on what I was worth
no amount of money
can ever buy me
ever
thats why Im poor
The civic media center and me
the sign said
closed
but there was a boy inside
a volunteer
doing something or
another
who knows
in the place
with the rainbow flag
and posters of
Malcolm X
nudist literature and
activist studies
he let me in
and said hed be there an hour
enough time to make a bomb
I thought
and I said
I would be on the computer
typing another masterpiece
and he said
okay
and here I am
making the bomb
and hes in the back somewhere
tying his shoes or
sneaking a pinch of smoke
who knows
in this place
the poetry readings
are on Thursdays
The fairy
on a usual Monday
I went out to the club
and there was a new show
with whips
women in leather
men acting like dogs
(some act)
and the fairy came by
and let me feel her cock
but I knew she was
a real she
her white hair
painted eyes
the smile of Puck
there was little doubt
she was in charge of things
even as the master Krullen
upgraded her white wings
to black
if you need a place
she said
you can stay with me
for awhile
with Krullens permission
the master nodded
grinning
holding his knife
okay
I said
Im breaking up with my
boyfriend
a change might do me good
and a few days later
I was a dog too
the word brightly showing
I was
like a new star
exploding
in Orion's Nebula
amidst
black curtains of
interstellar dust
when the applause came
for the worst poem
I had ever written
and I thought
lucky for them I
didnt pull out
the best
or
the universe
might have sucked itself
into emptiness
leaving me with
nothing to think
or do
Sunny day
I had it all
my Ferlinghetti
coffee
a clove cigarette
on a beautiful day
the landlord came
and blocked out the sun
you left my place
a wreck
he said
doors kicked down
holes in the walls
bathroom tile torn up
you dirty punk
youll pay me
what you owe
and youll never
rent from me again
you bum
then
he moved away
out of the sunlight
and I could feel
the wonderful warmth again
die all people
I cant stand them
like fleas and mosquitoes
but you cant just
kill them or
pinch their heads
between your fingernails
so I hide and write
in the library
or a friends house
or in the offices of
moon magazine
but the phone will ring
or someone will
knock on the door
they will find me
get too close
to my ear and
talk about everything
I never wanted to know
and how their day was
and
what have you been up to lately?
so youre writing, are you?
The reason
I ask often
to the air
what is the reason?
to the sky
as all men wonder
why am I here?
to the dead shade tree
is there more?
I ask
and nothing comes
but wind and
rain
a place for
robins to nest
and for me to sit
quietly as
no answers
surround me
The last poem before I go
after 5
and they are kicking me out of the office
I have been a pest
writing my little poems on their fancy computer
but the day comes to an end
and people have things to do like television and bed
please come again
they say
but for now
we have to lock the door
and go to our homes
and you must go back too
to your bus bench or coffee bar or night club
or street corner or parking lot or strangers house
a field of grass beneath a rainbow
with leaves swirling down from trees and butterflies
and bluebirds and red spotted ladybugs
and springtime and flowers and bees and
the laughter of children playing
in the warmth of the setting sun
we have to lock the doors
and kick you out of here
and I take my poems out of the printer machine
fold them neatly
put them in my pocket for later
my wonderful perfect life
and sweet summer songs
the smell of apple pie
mother calling me home to supper
running through the cat tails
arms outstretched
feeling freedom
but there is only the cold night sky
Two-time jack
he came lumbering at us
like a yeti
with his spray bottle
and rag
just a quarter
he said
I been waiting
to do this truck
fo a week
and he began to wipe
dismissing us and
our permission
but the window was dirty
and Christ--
it was only a quarter
so we said
have at it and he did
a fine job
working off the grime
and the insect parts
and for the trouble
we paid a dollar
just to be kind
and we said our goodbye
got in the truck
and drove a block down the road
to use the automatic teller
and a few minutes later
he came again
just a quarter
he said
that window sure do look
dirty to me
and we said
but you just washed it
he looked down at the road
and walked off
The beggar poem
he asked for change
and I asked him
is this for beer?
No sir
he said
my wife is in the hospital
and I just need forty-nine cents
for the phone call
I have a phone in my car
I said
well sir
I need the money for gas
you see
and I said
its beer
isnt it?
No sir
he insisted
I need to feed my children
and my wifes in the hospital
and I aint got no gasoline
okay
I said
and gave him a dollar
he thanked me
blessed me with god
walked to the all night market
and bought a beer
and I hoped his wife
and kids
wouldnt mind waiting
a little while longer