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Julie was hurt a long time ago

Julie lives with Duchess
Duchess is a pit bull dog with black stripes, and a long tail

They live together
in the rain
and the sun
and all kinds of weather
all day
and all night

outside

When I’ve had occasion to pet Duchess
her bones were bigger than her skin

When I have had occasion to talk to Julie
she was kind, but she was ruined

Someone hurt Julie a long, long time ago
and she just never healed

in a hearse when you die

I feel a breeze on my hands from the air coming in through the window of my room. I’m leaning on the window sill.

Through the dark, across the way in a parking lot, I see the light from two street lamps shining on a single car. A woman is walking on the street in shoes with hollow heels which echo up the four stories to my room. I can tell it’s a woman by the way the steps are being taken. I look down and across the street, and see a woman. I smile because I’m so smart, and then I let my mouth relax. A smile can be a burden sometimes.

It’s late. My girlfriend is asleep with the kids, and I’m writing this. I’ve had enough to eat today, and I had enough clean water to drink. I had clean air to breathe, and I smiled once or twice. I think I’ve done plenty for one day. More than I’ll do when I’m dead and gone.

I wiggle my fingers in the breeze.
It’s time for bed.

For my birthday
she sent me a big package
in the mail.

I carried it up to my room with both hands.

Inside of the box were foods.
Foods I had sometimes looked at, but had never bought
because I don’t spend money like that on food.

When she smiles and she says: “Father Luke loves me,”
she knows it’s true. And that makes me very happy.

And all her gifts,
and all her gestures,
and all the little acts of loving kindness she offers me
are like adjusting the lighting
on the Mona Lisa.

Even with the lights off her beautiful smile is there.

I want you to perform the services,
my Father was telling me.

A moment passed, and then I said that I would.
Certainly I would. Of course I would.

We looked at one another.

He was way past old now;
he was dying.

I have no idea what he saw
when he looked back at me.

He held my hand,
and thanked me with his smile.

Silence. Then he said to me:

I eat a lot of ice cream now.
I’ve lost my sense of taste. It’s the only
thing I really like.

We laughed. And I watched
him eat ice cream. Then I hugged
him good bye, probably for the last time.

How do you fit an entire lifetime
into words of goodbye? We just smiled.

And then I left.

My friend Jeff calls about twice a day now.
I’ll pick up the phone and hear his voice.

“Listen, I don’t speak English, you thieving bastard,” I’ll say. And Jeff will start laughing. “I know I owe you money! I’ll pay you when I get a job!” I’ll say. And he will crack up. “Don’t bother me again, I’ll get you your money!” I say into the phone.

And Jeff will say
Stop. It’s me Jeff!

“Oh,” I’ll tell him. “I thought you were the landlord,” and Jeff will laugh again. Everybody is broke. We have to laugh. It’s all we’ve got left.

i used to write to myself each
night before I went to bed

too tired, usually,
from working too many hours
at a job i didn’t like
getting paid
much too little
for the life hours i’d spent working

the things that i wrote
helped me to put my day in perspective
and so
helped me to
put my life in perspective

i no longer write
to myself at night

i answer emails from people
i write instant messages to my girl friend

but i no longer write

either i no longer have perspective
or i no longer have a life

but it’s okay
because i don’t sleep either
which is okay because i no longer have a job

no one has a job anymore

last night i passed out with my head
on the keyboard, and the telephone woke me up

hello?
This is your attorney, he said.
i listened.

Good news bad news. They company that was suing you is dropping the charges. The bad news is you owe us 800 bills. We go to court with the other company soon enough. I’ll keep you informed. I’m going to transfer you to the bookkeeper who is going to make arrangements with you for payments.

then i talked with the bookkeeper

You owe us eight hundred dollars, the woman said.
i listened. then she asked me if i was still on the phone.

i looked at the day through my window.
gray and black clouds hid the sun,
and i wondered about where i would be living next.

yes, i said. i’m here. i’m going to have to make some
arrangements with you for payments.

I look around me:
one little room.

The walls
which absorbed my music
and the smoke from a million cigarettes.

My window which I looked out of
at rain, and fog, and sunsets . . . .

The door which I never locked
which will now be closed to me forever.

Home.

I’ll miss you.
Goodbye.

I’m up on the fourth floor.
I hear a skateboard coming
up the sidewalk. I’m on the phone talking
to Joseph, and I’m listening to myself tell a story.

I’m telling him why I sleep on a sofa.
It’s because, I hear myself telling him, so
that if a woman decides she wants to sleep
here, there isn’t enough room, and she’ll
either have to sleep on the floor or leave.

The skateboarder is getting closer.

I hear Joseph laughing.
Padre, you have to write this up.

I smile, and ask him if he is talking
about the sofa. What else, he says.

I listen the the skateboard as it travels
past my window.

Charlie is singing in the street.

It’s four a.m. His voice echoes against the tall buildings.

He’s drunk, and he walks with a weave.

His job sucks; his wife hates him, and she’s asked for a divorce; he has kids who hate him, also. He blows on his cupped hands to warm them up like he was blowing his dreams in there to hold dear.

Charlie still dreams.
Don’t we all.

I have seen the deserts.
I’ve felt their heat.

I have seen the cities,
with their huddled masses.

I have seen long stretches
of road in the dark of night,
when there was no one there
but me, and the wind to stir my coffee.

I have seen roads iced over.
I have seen Mountains that were
covered in snow.

I have stood in line for food,
and I have been beaten, on the
streets of America.

I have driven other people all over town
in shiny, big, fancy cars.

I have done much,
and there is yet still much to do.

And to think that I owe it all to poverty.

a note popped up on my instant messenger.
She wanted to know the name of a pizza place in town.

I named the first one that came to mind.

They won’t deliver, she said.

What the hell?
I was beginning to take notice.

I thought. then I wrote another name,
and sent it along on the instant message.

A few minutes later,
I was watching for it this time,
a message came back:

okay. they deliver.
what kind do you want

feta, and spinach, I wrote back.

they want an address,
came back the reply.

i wrote my address, and told her to
tell them to call. I live in a secure building.

An hour later,
I was eating a spinach and feta pizza.

Where do friends come from?
Where do they go?

I wish I knew.

A little girl sits smiling.
She is bashful.
There are bright lights,
and she doesn’t know what to do exactly.

The photographer looks at her through the
camera. The little girl watches
him not knowing
what is happening.

Her mother has dressed her in
some new clothes. She tells
the little girl not to get
the good clothes
dirty.

There is still a picture of
that day. The little girl is
smiling; her hands are folded
in her lap. Her clothes are clean.

Mother is dead.
The clothes have been outgrown.
The smile still comes and goes.

I was talking to Mike.
He plays guitar on the street,
and has lived out here at least as long as I have.

He was telling me about it all. The world, him, life, everything.

Well, Jan and I haven’t fucked since New Years, he said.
I looked at a dog sniffing at some papers near the trash can.

She says she loves me, but she isn’t in love with me. I just want a piece of ass, he said.

The dog bit at it’s back, digging for a flea.

So, about a week ago, I found a couple of hookers, he said. I got into the room and told them to take their clothes off. One of them had a four hundred dollar a day heroin habit.

sad, I said.

Yeah, said Mike. But the other one was 36. She was really hot. I stayed hard all night, and I didn’t even orgasm. I wanted to just explode so bad, but the coke kept me from finishing. Damn I wanted it so much.

The wind blew cool across my face.

She called me on the phone.

I’m sick.
i know, I said. i like that about you.

She offered silence to appreciate my humor.
may i do anything for you, i said into the phone.

No, she said.
You’re doing it.

Sometimes, in the silences,
and in the things we don’t do,
life is defined for us by the people
we love. My only choice seems to be
whether I will allow myself to receive that love.

Today I did.

Tomorrow?
We’ll see. But I hope so.

the day begins
grinding away
at you right
from the
start

the alarm
the recognition that things
must
be done

grind
grind
grind

by the time the day is
half over you are exhausted

yet,
there is more to the day

grind
grind
grind

a man feels
half chewed up
by the time he gets home

then ?
more at home. . .

grind
grind
grind

The evening meal comes.
The diner goes into your mouth.

grind
grind
swallow

It’s like swallowing the whole day
in one gulp

Each day becomes a repetition
Each week
Each month
Each year

The things of the days
become much like
the days before

grind
grind
grind

And the rough
edges of a life
are smoothed down
until all that is left is a
mouth without any teeth
sucking in one more day

to grind away
grind away
grind away
home.

And that’s if you’re lucky.