under your bed ask the man you hate the most in this world ask the man who drank with Dylan Thomas ask the man who laced Jack Sharkey’s gloves ask the sad-faced man drinking coffee ask the plumber ask the man who dreams of ostriches every night ask the ticket taker at a freak show ask the counterfeiter ask the man sleeping in an alley under a sheet of paper ask the conquerors of nations and planets ask the man who has just cut off his finger ask a bookmark in the bible ask the water dripping from a faucet while the phone rings ask perjury ask the deep blue paint ask the parachute jumper ask the man with the bellyache ask the divine eye so sleek and swimming ask the boy wearing tight pants in the expensive academy ask the man who slipped in the bathtub ask the man chewed by the shark ask the one who sold me the unmatched gloves ask these and all those I have left out ask the fire the fire the fire— ask even the liars ask anybody you please at any time you please on any day you please whether it’s raining or whether the snow is there or whether you are stepping out onto a porch yellow with warm heat ask this ask that ask the man with birdshit in his hair ask the torturer of animals ask the man who has seen many bullfights in Spain ask the owners of new Cadillacs ask the famous ask the timid ask the albino and the statesman ask the landlords and the poolplayers ask the phonies ask the hired killers ask the bald men and the fat men and the tall men and the short men ask the one-eyed men, the oversexed and undersexed men ask the men who read all the newspaper editorials ask the men who breed roses ask the men who feel almost no pain ask the dying ask the mowers of lawns and the attenders of football games ask any of these or all of these ask ask ask and they’ll all tell you:
a snarling wife on the balustrade is more than a man can bear.
in the men’s room at the
track
this boy of about
7 or 8 years old
came out of a stall
and the man
waiting for him
(probably his father)
asked,
“what did you do with the
racing program?
I gave it to you
to keep.”
“no,” said the boy,
“I ain’t seen it! I don’t
have it!”
they walked off and
I went into the stall
because it was the only one
available
and there
in the toilet
was the
program.
I tried to flush
the program
away
but it just swam
sluggishly about
and
remained.
I got out of
there and found
another
empty stall.
that boy was ready
for his life to come,
he would undoubtedly
be highly successful,
the lying little
prick.
with old cars, especially when you buy them secondhand and drive them for many years
a love affair is inevitable:
you even learn to
accept their little
eccentricities:
the leaking water pump
the failing plugs
the rusted throttle arm
the reluctant carburetor
the oily engine
the dead clock
the frozen speedometer and
other sundry
defects.
you also learn all the tricks to
keep the love affair alive:
how to slam the glove compartment so that
it will stay closed,
how to slap the headlight with an open palm
in order to have
light,
how many times to pump the gas pedal
and how long to wait before
touching the starter,
and you overlook each burn hole in the
upholstery
and each spring
poking through the fabric.
your car has been in and out of
police impounds,
has been ticketed for various
malfunctions:
broken wipers,
no turn signals, missing
brake light, broken tail lights, bad
brakes, excessive
exhaust and so forth
but in spite of everything
you knew you were in good hands,
there was never an accident, the
old car moved you from one place to
another,
faithfully
—the poor man’s miracle.
