she said, I can’t do this anymore, pointing at me; a dysfunction, a futile exercise….
what do you want….a divorce….I’ll give you a divorce….wait…just wait…
no, she warned, it’s done…can’t go back now….what’s done is done….I’m done….
I’ll leave tomorrow…
fine….
and I went back to bed….
so let me get this straight….you see somethin’….you want somethin’….you just take it….just take it….
He lit a smoke; last one in his pack; wadded up the Marlboro box, aimed and fired, Yes..that’s what I do…yes…
no remorse…no guilt…
some, He blew out a foggy patch, only some….but….not enough to stop, relaxed, rolling his head in a circle of darkened eyes, darkened hair, dark, dark, dark….
you work on inpulse…or…are these things planned….
depends….broad’s take plannin’….guys….they never see it comin’….right…
‘spose…plans for tonight….
rob a liquor store….you….?
get there before you….
…you don’t understand…Emma Goldman was a Nazi sympathizer….she supported…the ….
wait..wait…wait…what are you sayin’…..this is Emma Goldman we’re talkin’ here….fuckin’ Emma Goldman..
yeah….so….she was in love wit’ that German doctor….what’s his name…you know the one…wanted every kid aborted…
you’re crazy….
well you’re stupid….
Emma Goldman was a….
she was a self-hating Jew….trust me…
trust you….
yeah..trust me…..and pass the salt…
kids swagger up Bolton…jeans saggin’….hats cocked….makin’ Sharks-n-Jets look like nice boys…Cub Scouts of communities…
soon sun will fall and the trades begin, You sure you’re good Papi? No taste for nothin?, My head shakes no….respect….they give me….not asked twice….
and moonlight brings morons yellin’..howlin’…. fuck you’s at passers-by….loud speakers turnin’ out French Montana….bad sound effects and all….
it is the talk….the chatter….of wannabes and already are’s….those that deal and shake…and fake….while bein’ baked….
waitin’ on the sun to clear the deck…soon summer will come….soon….
then what’d we do?…..
….this Trump is a bad man, The Punjab said, terrible man….he has no ethics, toast was dipped in runny yolks…
…..what’d you mean, Rose slung another plate, This is America….he’s as ethical as the next guy, a check was turned facedown with a smiley-face circled….
I tell true story….I came here with nothing…amassed millions….home in Connecticut….two cars….real American wealth, a swig of joe, I did all this on principles…..
….yeah….what happened….
9-11happened…..lost everything, Rose poured Punjab more coffee, All gone…within minutes….
…..so what’d you do?…..
I go to friend…I tell him….loan me couple of grand….he does…., Rose cleared a table nearby, I take that money to Vegas….I meet beautiful woman there whose husband worked for mob guy, Another slurp of coffee, I tell her….loan me twenty grand….and if I die please forgive me….
…..she do it?….
24 hours later she give me two checks totaling forty grand, Rose shook her head, Why?…cause I am ethical….good things happen to ethical people….Trump….not ethical….
What?….what the fuck’s your story gotta do with any of this or that, Rose went through her check pad, You’re crazy Punjab…..
….yes….but ethical and on my feet again..
didja ever pay those people back?….
…..that would be un-American….I filed bankruptcy immediately….that is very American….
….whatever Punjab….
yeah…whatever….more coffee please…
there was a morn I wanted to wander…..solely….travels from east to west…with cities and sidebars.. hamlets ….romantic romps in piled dried leaves..golds…reds..yellows..my only friends in journeys across hurt land….
into a mountain’s bosom…..drinking cowboy coffee and taking-in greens and browns….old grays lingering from working days….talk of mending….one day….mending….
and there is frolic…gayity….ambiguous laughter in Northside neighborhoods as guns go pop to the South and West sides….1,000 murdered souls….all are guilty…from parents to patrol officers…city officials to gun dealers….to gang-bangers…to…ad nauseum….
jobs….jobs…jobs…dope deals under an arch…roulette down the street…and thefts of Swisher Sweets….the need for the dollar…the yelling…the screaming, “they killin’ our babies…they killin’ our babies….,” and where were you?….
no more…let me see no more…taken back to the leaf pile….to the colors….reds…golds….yellows…
maybe….trouble lurked there too…there is no certainty…not in a library…a school house….or….a gift from nature….
just stick a finger to the wind….and see where she blows….always seeking solace….always….
I hear the number 2 overhead…or…the number 5 coming into Pelham Bay Parkway….
bringing middle-aged white men of Manhattan Uptown for some strange….backpage beauties with fat-asses and promising careers….
chicks with dicks….swinging from rafters off White Plains Road….718-436-0021….call Papi…..
and….they do…like boys leaving for camp in the summer’s dew….only to return to wives….girlfriends….lovers….mothers….ashamed of underwater activities….
guilt….burdens on Sunday’s morning….or…Friday’s eve….Lord forgive these sins….lead me….blah….blah….blah…..
Generous men wanted…..good service ain’t cheap….top girls only….
now…..cry like a little bitch….
Let me tell ya, Telly said between slurps of chicken soup, They’re gonna’ get her….you watch….
Listening…can’t help but listen…the on-slaught, What Telly….what’re they gonna do?….
Him too, more slurps, They’re not goin’ afta him ’cause he’s black, again with the slurping, You watch…both of ’em are socialists…..
Telly….I’m a socialist….trust me…these two….not socialists…
what’d you call em then….?
Americans….
Just turned off everything automatic on this keyboard; no more to…which should be too….or….they’re which should be their…..
This automatic age….not an age of reason…nor language…or communication….just second guessing….
And shame on us for falling for it….this technological wonder….this always smarter than the next guy swagger….
I’m buying a typewriter…..an homage to a simpler time….when writing was a discipline….get out your dictionaries…..
We listened to Coleman Hawkins blow…Only Have Eyes For You…..playin’….where has that music gone to…
The same with Dexter Gordon…Trane…Getz…missed…all missed…from a time of jazz Buhddist meanderings in midnights across lands where moonlight is secondary to shades of neon….greens…reds…magentas….
Pianos plunked…. she looked in love…..I thought……lovely to be in love…..
And now a trio plays Hello Young Lovers…..And you meet not really by chance….
Miss this…..or…missed this….maybe romance is for youth…maybe it was only for those under a jazz spell….
And……jazz is dying…..it’s withering away….how I wish it would stay….
dmseay 