who want to talk,

they push their faces too

close,

I am stricken by their

eyes,

they jabber away

like monkeys in a

zoo

and finally

I break away,

ride the escalator a

while,

sometimes go out to

parking,

walk in the sun,

come back,

watch another god-damned

horse

race.

I feel tired and bloated

with it

all,

thinking back

now

on the day.

yes, I won, yes.

but I’ve got to think of

something

else.

maybe I’ll hang around

Art Museums?

no.

awful.

maybe I’ll play with

paints?

ah, no.

you know, this sitting

around waiting to

die,

it’s not a very kind

hobby.

I watch the smoke

drift about the

room, turn up the

radio.

I tell you, I don’t mind

death

but it pisses me off

when the animals

die.

well, here I am

sitting in my shorts,

complaining

again.

and getting paid

for it.

who could have

ever guessed?

evaluation

oh yes, I’m a good guy,

as soon as the toilet paper

runs low,

I’ll take it out and replace

it

with a full fat roll.

I don’t live

alone

and I am aware

that a sudden unwilling search

of that dark blank

cardboard

can jinx this tender mood

or write a curse

on the cool tile

wall.

good guys like me are needed in

this more than difficult

world.

the young

I watch them going up and down the hill on their

Suzukis, gunning them, ripping the night with

sound, the lights are bright, up and down

the hill they go, it’s only Thursday

night but any night will do, there’s hardly

any place to go, gang territory across Pacific

Avenue and more gangs on Gaffey Street, only

a few safe blocks to play with and they park

their bikes, stand around talking, there’s not

much money, they share joints and a few pills,

school tomorrow, maybe, hell, maybe not.

I stand out front watering a patch of lawn, maybe they

see me, and if they do, it doesn’t matter, I’m just

another old fart in a world of old farts, yet I

feel like walking over and saying, “come on,

let’s find something to do…” but I know better, I know

that they don’t know any more than I do and they

are probably more scared, I had my fling

ripping at the walls, I used to stand and beat

my hands against the bricks until they bled and

I kept punching but the world stayed there

unlikeable, monstrous, deadly.

I see them talking, then shut off the water, drag

the hose back into the yard, walk up the drive

and they are left standing in the world I passed on to them, they

are hopelessly screwed, castrated, denuded.

—the passing of the torch through the centuries,

they have it now.

Thursday night, nowhere to go.

Friday night. Saturday. Sunday. Monday.

etc.

the oldest young on earth.