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From the vault VII: "Poem"


I go to work
call my mother, my sister
a few others
watch Floyd fix the toilet
fret about my stuck hood
think about slapping a sign on the Pontiac: it’s yours
& never going near it again
I read a few pages of Shaw’s autobiography,
better yet Chesterton’s
& Quentin Crisp’s ditto
sigh & warble along with Patsy Cline
think about bills, snow, pills, Boston
the party this afternoon & Janet & Didier’s
performance tonight, try to talk
Dea out of a surprise birthday party for Johnene
watch I Love Lucy, feed the cat
eat, feel sick, take vitamins
don’t go
to the still unfixed toilet
feel sick
that my house has lurched
into wrack & ruin
fret about brain tumors
gloat that I myself am a 2-car 2-apartment family
stunned at de Kooning’s exploding rose women
despair over the lamp the cat
knocked into a floodlight
worry about the hot water spewing
the new exercycle with busted odometer
the tiffany lamp tim still hasn’t hung
the Christmas cards still not sent
Picasso’s fabulous prodigity
wonder why didn’t Harris call
I think of Arizona & my brother & Mexico City &
clothes & the drifters & birthdays
& really I only think about you

early or mid 1980s based on thinking about "you" (Johnny) incessantly. I had that Pontiac till maybe 1985 or 86?
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