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Old queens sat upon tiled tiers in towels loosely lounging; steam poured from a pipe….. hand gestures were made as eyes roved….. young boys playing grown-up….

And then…. two…a move waiting to be moved-on…..a towel removed…revealing a stem withered….the boy voted best begins his work….yet there is no magic,Place it in your mouth, The queen demands, the man-child hesitates……then bends to proceed…..

He remembers an older brother’s requests,I’ll give you a quarter,his offer was made, laying the silver on a yellow dewy grass in darkness with a straight back leaning to a piece of panel as he plied more talk….more quarters, Come-on now…what’s holding you back?…

A hand was placed to the back of the youngsters head….wanting to stop….forced to keep going…..a brother’s laugh…..an old queen’s cackle……a pat on the head as a silent exit was made…….through a foggy glass door…..through the tiny opening of a make-believe-fort……what’s the difference?…………..

The boy voted best sat alone….in a steam-room…..in a fort …….so long ago when power was taken away and life-long demands began…..Do as you are told….’Cause you won’t find a better deal…..Anywhere……

He should have destroyed that fort a long time ago………………

Promises were made……worthless repeated words spewing from mouths with no intent….nothing genuine…..false hopes……just bar-room chatter……I’ll give you the moon…..I’ll make love to you every night…we’ll be happy….just like peas and carrots with a honey butter glaze………. these things we dream…..

And talk goes away……actions committed…..love’s labors lingered…..or….was it ever love at all……maybe just two old queens playing house…..with a dog……a remodeled kitchen…. cocktail parties on Oscar night…..the bar was always stocked…..the table set at seven….

Calls waited for became less and less……flowers fewer…..old movies at midnight…..just put your lips together and blow…..

Twenty years gone,…………..He said,……….. Nothing is sure……………not even a lover’s hand…..

The letter came by way of invisible wires…..satellite…..transfusions…moving objects through air….time….and space…..a stamp would suffice…..

Your mother is not doing well and we don’t have a phone number, she wrote, We don’t know how much longer she has…….maybe days……maybe minutes…..that stroke did a number on her……

Candles were lit at St. Xavier’s, prayers were lifted up and forgiveness was asked….for what….who knows…..it just was…..a funeral of one…..

Remembering Southern ways…..old Christian values of Locust Bayou with a pitch-pipe to keep us in harmony….crackers broken for communion….grape juice drunk…..do this in remembrance of me….

There was guilt….forbidden taboos…..gardens a football field long…..summer sprays for mosquitoes down gravel back roads….a make-shift fort built in the backyard……secrets kept…..questions asked…..accusatory, We want to talk about your homosexuality, she held a gavel……him a punishment…..

There were hospitalizations……for craziness…..two brothers and a sister condemning to Hell for a non-conformist-life of running away here…..never settling there……homeless shelters…..psych wards….Damn’t, can’t you stay in one place? they’d all ask…..No…..no….no…..no…..

Your mother could die soon, the email said……..words from a sister-n-law…..too…too late….

You all died a long time ago……In the name of the Father….the Son….and The Holy Ghost…..

It never was…….

 

She walks through Washington Square Park…..throwing Pixie dust at vagabonds….

Leaves change….a piano is played…poetry is read….and a black beauty disrobes for all to enjoy…..the eyes have it…..

Newly formed couples on the verge of a kiss…..closer….closer….not quite yet……

It wasn’t winter, nor spring that brought me here….twas memories of fall……memories of you….

Neither Toronto…..dear old Paris….Quebec…..or Chicago……only in Gotham did we truly love…..something close to love…..

So what…..so what…….all falls….all fails……all too soon…..awakened all too late…..

She walks through Washington Square Park……throwing Pixie dust at vagabonds…..

And I sit like a gnome…..wondering how she made out…..

To the blonde Russian with curves and scrap English of far away Rockaway………Is that all you do all day…….serve some Pasticio……an egg sandwich over easy….hold the cheese……You do this well…..too well…..I swoon……

Soon you will be swept off your feet….soon…….cash is required as in all transactions…..more bread……

To watch her glide…..pivot…..lean to the right with hand on hip…..longing for St. Petersburg……….Or…..maybe the Upper Westside…..

The waitress at Murray Hill……..pouring coffee with brown eyes watching……looking for perspective suitors…….Some young Turk……some major player…..it’ll happen….

Everyday a dream comes in a thick accent…… and I thank that cunt Reagan for the fall of The Berlin Wall……Rest in Peace Ronny…………….rest in peace…..

Bipolar and 300 pounds…. heavily medicated….prone to fits of crying….emotional outbursts……rage…..and chronic masturbation…..Big fan of Mamet….Miller….and Mailer……delusional at times with grandiose thoughts of world power in a messianic role………an understanding soul….you could do worse……

Long walks on the beach and cuddling on a couch; a real sweetheart……yet misunderstood….

Your picture gets mine………………….

Hi, Courtney smiled and again said, Hi……..Hi……..Hi, she twisted her lanky body, smoothed out her long hair, Hi…..Hi…Hi, the sub said hi back to her; a wider smile, clapping, grunting, happiness….

In one day sir….you have ruined all the progress we’ve made with Courtney over the past two years, the teacher’s aide said with a flip of the Breck girl hair and a tiss tiss tiss……

It is inappropriate for her to say hi every five seconds to people, more scolding, more teaching of normalcy in a non-normal world where people speak in signs, laughter rings occasionally, and naps are taken to the sounds of computerized thunder storms……

The substitute looked at Courtney, looked at the Breck girl, again looked at Courtney, Hi…..Hi…..Hi, he said, Hi Courtney….Hi, more laughs, more claps; wet pants, soaked with piss dripping to the tile floor……

See….see….This is what happens……she needs social graces….Now you’ve done it…..

Are you hoping for her to spend a night at the fucking opera? he looked at Courtney again, walked to the closet and began filling the mop bucket, Hi Courtney….hi….

Hi….Hi….Hi…..uh….uh….uh, jumping and swinging side to side with piss pouring, Hi…hi….hi…

Yes Courtney……hi…..

 

Voices scream outside the door….down the hallway comes smells of Sunday vitals seeping through cracks and crevices……family dinners after a weekly cleansing of  souls……………….

Chicken fried steak…..mashed potatoes and white cream gravy with speckles of black pepper clinging throughout….Turnip greens and hamhocks……salted to taste……Southern soul food….the French never had it so good……

Doors slamming….the heater over-heating…..The glorious sun comes through broken blinds letting us know that life still exists……And those smells……..taking me back…..every Sunday to afternoon naps…..picking tomatoes in a garden……shooting hoops under flood lights high above……high school heroes……Green and Goshen…..

Harmony Grove…..Harmony Grove…..five kids fighting for the last biscuit on the dinner table…..daddy takes all…..Dogs lapping up leftovers…..country talk….small town ways…..Southern ventures……blessings…

It’s a long way from St. Louis to Harmony Grove……..but then again……..anything south of the Western Gate is Arkansas anyway…..

….pick-up lunch…..

what…..no….what….

I gotta watch every dime….all…every single one….

yes…

she’s watchin’ everything…..every little move……

she’s….

yes…..all the time…..Jimmy did you bring home this receipt….that deposit slip…..where’s the checkbook…..

bustin’ your balls……

right….

why?….

I slipped-up…….I wasn’t watchin’…..too much pressure…..

Slow-down…..slow the fuck down…..

I go to the spa on 41st Street…..$220…..fuck…suck….she’s askin’ where the money went……

for what…..she’s entitled….

she thinks this……

First off…..why $220…….crack whore on Stanton Island…job….same service…..fifty bucks….

Listen…

No…..what….the wife won’t blow…..right….why…..cause she’s union…….She’s the fucking shop steward for God’s sake…….that would be beneath her……

Pete….

I’m tellin’ the truth…….a whore…..a temp……labor intensive no questions asked……you pay them to leave……

Right…..

Your days are numbered my friend……

Yes…..right…..yes…..I don’t know…….

fucking numbered……..hire a scab…….

Miller warned, When they’re done kid….they’re done….you can count on that….You’ll weep a little….bellow out blaming all….the world…society…America….her gynecologist…..protestants……The Vatican…..all of God’s supposed creation…..She was finished ‘fore she even started…..

And why is this?…… so cold……so cut……’Cause she can…..Sell all stocks….dump the bonds…..everything must go….Volume….volume…volume, he gave a wink and slurred more Brooklyneese….

They are the true patriots…… true Americans….they understand completely this concept of winner take all….in the workplace…..the bedroom….so forth…..from Emma Goldman… to Saint Hillary……there is no losing…..only play to win don’t you know….no gloves….Those were discarded long ago…….

This fear of being alone is our weakness…….we’ll put up with the greatest atrocities without question…….and for what……cuddling…..warm milk and cookies……surely not solace….don’t let a happy man fool you….he’s as miserable as the rest of us……

So be it…….Let’s get a drink…..