ESP.LITERATURE

I am stooped to a thin broth,

an old man,

behindhand coming to the table,

a laggard, I am

and my soup turns cold and … and

repugnance, arthritic hand,

dégraisser it was, the ladle

plopping in the bowl,

incompetent, old coot.

Ay? come again, how’s that you say?

Ah, but I know my Yeats!

The old toilets flush and go round go round.

The cracked mirrors,

the senility leaves its mark in the faces

of strangers once known to me;

they make of me the ancient imbecile;

they gawk and shout

then speak among themselves

as if I were already

stiff

cold and

quite quite dead.

The scrawny one there, spindleshanked, she ...
mistaking decoration for beauty,
her.
She wishes I were,
the bitch ...
for his own sake, she says
how puffy, she says
how yellowish, and those missing teeth.

Ay? come again, how’s that you say?

But this one, a skunk, true

but I put up with her,

yes

and she endures my pawky delirium,

the loops of my sensibility,

in and out, in and out,

around and around and around.

So it goes.

So it goes.

My dim lit niche, this corner booth,

this persistent fog …

Oh let me be, skunk.

I have no flatteries to barter with,

no coin to pay for these attentions

no … no …

No.

Take your hand from my shoulder now,

take …

take your eyes from mine,

these cracked lips your smile mocks

take …

your hand from my heart from my … my 

Tears?

No no, not from these sunken eyes,

posh and fiddlesticks,

tears.

Aglint with madness they are, skunk,

that’s all

that’s all.

Now git, you sorry …

you sorry …

Such a funk and fog.

Go away now.

Go.

Ah, so stay then,
stay,
for who can know how long I'll have
to love you.

The bell on the door ding dings dings,
they come, they peer in the mirror, they whisper whisper
Those sons a ...
come for a show to peep,
see an old man stutter and drool,
jowls sloppy down the stubbled bone
the spittle, the toothless crut,
the bald, the bastards,
blind, blind
seeing only the warts and killing spots,
my greasy coat,
my soiled cuffs,
my clogged bowels and indigestion.

More the pity,

aglint with madness, sure …

sure

but you think this skunk gives a hoot?

You think she cares?

Ha!

I’ll hock one on your silk tie, buster.

The bastards … the blind,

so blinded these words.

Ha ha ha

sure

sure

such a feeble rage,

a whispered croak where a shout once …

Ay? come again, how’s that you say?

This one, she brings me my soup.

Soft and shy, slow eyed;

this one, this skunk

found me sopped in the lies and bilious conjecture

that old folks swill.

This one, shy, dark eyed:

I loved her now a long time

once when I was young,

yes

loved her then 

a long time

once when I was …

Ha!
Put a cork in that sop
ya preposterous old fool.
Your youth like some wan late autumn sun
expired with an embarrassed cough
leaving … leaving you cynicism,
yes
and impotence
impudence
goaded by vanity
playing all against each other
tooling the fools with the clever poses
consummate actor
presenting the fine facade for adulation
oh yes,
the fine facade
then when you were young ...
Oh the thousand small deliberations
how circumscribed and impotent
they now seem
yes
you pawned all regrets for a nickel bag of shit
and grinned the years to senescence
senescence
to sit now penitent
in this shabby cafe,
this cold soup,
yes
this … hypocrisy ...
preposterous.

So it is. Ay? come again, how’s that you say?

But this one,

ah, this young skunk,

she brings me my crust of bread

soft and shy

slow eyed

this one, dark eyed,

yes

I loved her now a long time
once when I was young.

November 15, 1974

Brightwood

Published in PLUG NICKELS 2015.