2 Poems

Jacuzzi Haiku

against the current                               your nipples bloom                                                                 against the current Cento:  The Lid to the Great Jar my father believed in work. my father caught the baby mice in the sun and in the rain the three of us somewhere between 9 and 10 years old. I came home from grammar school one day and my mother was sitting, crying my mother, father and I all people start to down in New Orleans. my first wife was from Texas and we came back. my daughter looked like a young Katherine Hepburn my daughter said this when she was 5: hello Bill Abbott: dirty little bugger it was not a good day. we liked the priest because once we saw him buy an icecream cone. his name was Eddie and he had a big white dog with a curly tail. not that I minded this Dutchman one orator proving there was a God “I knew you were a bad-ass,” he said. Bach, I said, he had 20 children. the horse stood in the yard and I told the guy—he was watering his lawn— you ever squirt my dog again and you’ll have to deal with me. moments of agony and moments of glory, my beast comes in the afternoon. * I awakened at 1030 a.m. I found myself in middle age born next to cold dogs and I never realized then what a good time I was I was a packer in a factory east of Alameda street I  came  in  and  all  the  time  cards  wer e  pulled it’s a farce, the great actors, the great poets, the great to be writing poetry at the age of 50 I believe in earning one’s own way all theories, like clichés, shot to hell. if you gotta have wars I suppose World War One was the best. * what’s genius? plants which easily winter kills when you no longer see their name on the program the Free Verse Poets whispered there’s Picasso there’s Barry in his ripped walking shorts Houdini was caught off guard the horse stood in the yard and here’s a male giraffe they come visit and “look,” I say,“you shouldn’t have broken in we had the nicest old guy living in the back— like the rest of us, Jack didn’t always shine too brightly he used to sit in his bedroom slippers long ago he edited a little magazine it’s there you don’t think you’ll find anybody in there he comes by unexpectedly speaking about going crazy, just thinking about when I went up to Santa Cruz to read. * when the phone rings it’s usually a man’s little dark girl with kind eyes poor Mimi Trochi once a fine poetess she was 32 years younger if you think some women want only your love she pulls a large silver mirror she passed from one important man they were not quite looking at one WINE: at present you are buying about 60 bottles. * I awaken at 1130 am listening to Richard Strauss again and again many of the paper boys here in L.A. sound of doom like an approaching cyclone was back east. * 115 degrees today at the track lost my ass at the races * Tonight the feelings I get bad shape. sick. can hardly hold my soul together I have just spent one-hour-and-a-half listening to Bruckner now. I’ve memorized all the fish in the sea while the rents go up elsewhere I used to look across the room it is 98 degrees and I am standing in the center I have been hungry many times after she died I am sad just thinking about wives’ heads are the lid to the great jar the world is full of constipated writers. and eager readers who need plenty of new shit. it’s depressing.