I took the freeway on in.

after 3 miles traffic began to

slow down.

I stayed in the left lane and

rode it out.

then I saw it,

on the other side of the freeway

fence—

a pile-up, bad,

one car on its roof,

another crushed on the freeway

fence,

a flame was beginning to flicker under

the hood, red lights came flashing

and inside my gut

something sucked and banged.

I drove past.

I drove on.

I parked outside my place,

got out, went in.

I opened the door.

there was nobody there.

then I saw the teddy bear.

it was pushed face-down into the pillow

on the bed.

I walked quickly to the stocking

drawer where the money was

kept.

my shipping clerk money.

only half of it was gone.

nice, I thought.

real class, you bitch.

then the door opened and death

walked in.

“care for a drink?” I asked

him.

he didn’t answer.

I walked to the kitchen to see

if there was one.

the centuries flashed

by.

as he stood

waiting.

two crazies

we were the only two whites in the

factory.

he was real crazy, Max,

cocked neck, gangly thin arms, never

looked straight at anybody, well, he did

but it was only a quick glance from

atop a twisted neck and his eyes

were small and ugly and

dim, and he always wore brown:

brown shoes, brown shirt, brown

pants, brown socks

and his movements were

ungainly.

nobody ever spoke to him.

I was the other crazy

but the other workers didn’t know

it.

I had a mean mouth, was good

with the quips and it gained me

some respect

but I was as out of it as

Max was.

I knew exactly how Max felt

and I think he knew how I felt

but it was a secret between

us.

we never spoke.

months went by and we never

spoke.

then one afternoon he spoke.

he turned and looked at me

and said, “you don’t have any

guts.”

at lunch time we squared off

in the alley behind the shop.

Max rushed me, winging punches

but they were butterfly

punches.

I took him easy, bloodied his

nose right away, then just

started leveling off.

it was like fighting a girl.

he didn’t have

it.

the fellows pulled me

away.

we went back in

and Max went to the

washroom to clean

himself up.

nothing happened between

Max and myself

after that.

a month went by

and one day Max didn’t

show up

and we never saw him

again.

a week or so later

I was fired.

and both the crazy whites

were gone.

Max had been

right:

I didn’t have any guts.

I was shacked with a woman

ten years older

and I was

pussy-whipped

and lost in my own dream.

and if that ain’t crazy,

I’d rather

be.

a note on the masses

private hells made public

often puzzle the readers: