Waiting on an end…..maybe beginning….don’t know…
Perhaps not waiting at all….just being still….without movement…..

Can you move?….take steps….

Have to wait….

For what?

For word….permission…

What a fine fix….

Yes….a fine fix indeed….

Is anyone smarter than Samuel Beckett?….not Joyce…..not Eliot….wandering in The Wasteland….their’s was genius too…not a Beckett…..not a Beckett….

Does today’s reader even attempt a writer of Beckett’s range….mastery of language….today’s readers find themselves in quaqua…..and that voice shall not be found….

It is the tech saavy world…..it is the non-reading ungraspable planet of wasted youth and blighted years…..no time for English to be translated into French then back to English with Latin gems thrown about like crystals in a cave…..

Waiting for Beckett…..I am waiting for Beckett…..can’t go on….can’t go on…..I must go on…..

These people…..they say….talk of class issues in America….nothing could be further from the truth, the Episcopalian’s Attorney told me….a swig of red……a Nouveau Riche sandwich before him…..dressed in Mesclun..frisee…..a hint of purple……

Now Europe…..that’s a class structure…..Not America, he dabbed thin lips….

I suppose you want a sandwich too…..aye?

Naaaa…..fine…..

One works….one eats…..

Yes….yes…..but….what makes work…..work?….

I don’t follow…..

Eat your greens…..

Sitting in  Greek joint…..too clean….too hip….No-one dares to yell Opppppaaaaaahhhhh…..

Cool couple orders gyros….without onions…..

Green Day plays over speakers….

The American mall manifestation is complete….

I give-up….

Sitting in an Irish bar….not so Irish….as muzak plays today’s pop hits and out-of-towners marvel at baked Scotch eggs (fry the fuckers).

Guiness is $8.50….mixed….market price….it’s the eye of Manhattan and all bets are off…..call it what you want…it’s America’s finest hour….Chelsea vs. Manny U….Barry White can’t get enough of your love babe….

Framed football jerseys….and flat-screens adorn the walls….whispers of Midwesterners, “How authentic,” and ales flow….cute hats….pierced bellies…God help us….

A letter from America….

Saw her comin’ from two blocks away…..nice smile….high stems….this…was a good day…..

Walked past….past a little more…..on down the block….

Could I…..should I?….what the hell, Hey Stems…..I been homeless for five years and today they gave me a place to live…..uh….how’s ’bout a kiss to celebrate…..

And like the Breck Girl she slowly whirled around…made a mad dash to the fat man….past dogwalkers….Arab merchants….old yentas cursing cabies….beggers askin’ for stock options…..

She planted a good one right on me….filled with passion….Filled with five years of remorse..What were her secrets?.

Don’t dare a broad, she said, We’ll fool ya’ everytime, and then walked away…..

I think I’m in love….
..

O

The first few notes of Billy Strayhorn’s Lush Life played softly while seated in a high wing-back chair…feet covered in wool….hot-chocolate for kids…come in from a day of throwing snowballs and sledding down a hill….seemed like Mount Everest…

Wild-eyed youth….laughing in the kitchen where a young mom dashes dark heat with fluffy clouds floating atop…black and white photos adorn yellowed walls of a home built in 1860…pioneers heading west….soothing wandering spirits….Some thing’s never change….

Hardwood floors squeak….needing to be fine -tuned….cracked paint…cherry and oak burn in the fire-place….cut in the summer months with an ax handed down from generation to generation…..snowflakes falling in moonlight outside a window where man and wife will later lay…exhausted…..naked…..under blankets…quilts among quilts…..

She rests her head of chestnut brown locks on his round belly…. whispers occasionally …content with blessings bestowed upon them….love…a peace…an understanding….

A new day……. people are walking on Main Street…waving to each other….the mailman says hello to the Mrs….carrying letters….. bags from boys over seas….fighting The Good War…..making the granddad who fought in The  War To End All Wars…..proud…very proud……  tin is collected and church-bake sales abound on Saturday afternoons……little red wagons are filled….

The Army/Navy game plays on the tavern’s radio sitting high above on a shelf next to a small wooden pixie; bringing luck while men with thick mustaches and brimmed hats drink schooners of beer with salt for fizz…..

Come-on boys…ram it down their throats, an old timer says………veterans from both sides scream-out for their teams….no-one hears them….maybe no-one ever did…..

It is another November day in Chagrin Falls, Ohio……Turkeys will be shot soon…..

Look….what you sayin’?….you bein’ disrespectful an’ shit an’ whatnot…..

Yes…..and sure…..yes…

So you do be bein’ dissin’ me an’ shit…..yoyoyoyoyo….check dis out…you ain’t got no final say…dat be true motherfucker. …..dat much be true…..

Yes……..and sure……yes…..

Damn straight….

Yes……and……

Dats right…dats motherfuckin right….Yo….bess be movin’ on….

Yes……and sure…..yes….

Done bitch……

Addicts talkin smack….
Everywhere in this city….the smells of herb….blunts burning….kids will be kids….
Speedballs….k2…..poppers…..meth….scripts too….everything must go…..passing the savings onto you…..

Skinny….strung-out…..talkin’…. mumbling…..yelling at the invisible behind corners….back alleys….the men’s room at Tompkins Square…Union Square….gotta dollar?

She said my poetry was dark…..well…..it’s gettin’ pretty dark out here…..observe and report…..observe and report….that’s all a poet can do….

Tell the truth…..America wouldn’t want it any other way…..we truly are divided into winners and losers….and I have lost…..

Thank God…..

So you have two ex-wives….right..?….

yes…..yes….two….both….yes two…..

Why?….why two…..why any….

I write….no money….nothin’…..well….

So….marriage has a financial…..

Yes…..yes…..no money…..no wife….comprende…..

Women are…..wives are money driven?….

(pause)……… (longer pause)…….(a Pinter pause)……

Well….

did I mention I have two ex-wives…..

I brought that-up….

Yes…..yes you did…..I’m a writer…..I don’t have any money…..

And that’s the failure of the marriages?

Did I tell ya I was an artist…..

Yes…

You figure it out….hey…..could you buy me a sandwich…..