thing.”

—such statements don’t

create a legend

but for ordinary mortals

they still have a

rather

sturdy

worth.

interview

what would you do if you had 5 minutes to

live? he asked.

nothing.

really?

yes, nothing.

all right, suppose you had 2

weeks?

nothing.

come on, don’t say that, be

serious!

I think I

am.

all right, suppose you had 2

months?

either hold up a bank or take

up

water-skiing.

you’re not being serious

about this whole

thing.

so I asked him:

what would you do

if you had 2 months to

live?

well, he answered, I’d

drink and fuck,

plenty.

o.k., put me down for

the same thing.

now you’re talking!

he said.

for a man with 2 months to

live

he looked pretty

satisfied.

the lady who looks forever young

is in trouble:

the famous place she has gone to for all these

years for

face-lifts

refuses to give her

another:

the skin on her face is stretched so

tight

that she’s like a balloon about to

burst

and they will not accept the

responsibility

of having her smile into another

camera

and exploding

like a tomato blasted by a

firecracker

all over the lens and all over

the people.

poor doll.

she’s just another one of our

ageless

stars.

but have cheer: she’ll never

die: film lasts longer than we

do.

an answer

within the past six years

there have been four

different rumors that I

have died.

I don’t know who begins

these rumors

or why.

and certainly humans

do worse things than

this.

yet I always feel strange

when I must inform people

that I am

not yet dead.

somebody out there

or perhaps several

people

evidently get some

huge satisfaction

in announcing that I am

no longer

around.

some day,

some night

the announcement will be

true.

to put it mildly,

I am no longer

young.

but these death-wishers

are an unsavory

group,

these hyenas,

these vultures,

these failed writers,

will also some day

be dead,

their petty bitterness,

their lying gutless

beings swallowed by

the dark.

but for the moment,

I am here

and these last lines

are for them:

your cowardice will

not be

missed

and you were

dead

long

before

me.

a model

I want to be like that

man who entered the

restaurant

tonight,

he parked right in

front

of the front

door.

blocking off a good many

parked cars,

then slammed his car

door shut,

walked in,

his shirt hanging out

over his big

gut.

when he saw the

maitre d’, he

said, “hey, Frank,

get me a fucking

table by the

window!”

and Frank smiled and followed

him

along.

I want to be like

that man.

this way’s not

working.

for over 70 years

now.

my companion

pissing in the toilet bowl

the centuries whirl past

me

and that lovely lady,

Suicide,

the only lovely

lady,

appears once again,

she knows me.

the walls are cream

yellow.

I flush,