Call Girls and Goldiggers. 5 Poems
Flat Sincerity
They often walk through the door of the butcher shop
Women who eat off the fat of their husbands presence
And with hair so straightened they look like porn starlets.
“I’m not sure if I am in hell.” I think as I trim some fat off a ribeye steak
They walk to the counter and with faces of flat sincerity
Ask Ernesto or Bart or Danny if the salmon is sushi grade today.
When I hear that I think that what they need a righteous loving fuck
The ones that they don’t even know exist.
I’ll take my 10 now,
Go out and sit on a milk crate near the piss scented corner of the parking lot,
And make more plans on how to keep my desperation invisible
June 17, 1987
Elizabeth Hartman died last week
I saw it on the cover of People’s magazine at the Ralphs on Ventura Blvd.
It was lively at the market. I’m sure just as much as it was at Mount Cavalry
Public crucifixions have become everyones favorite pastime.
Maybe I do it because I hate myself so much
Not much has changed, I guess, since Jesus died on the cross
As I walk out of the store with my eggs and ramen
A warm disgust reddens my face
Knowing that I am a party to this indignity
By reading of her demise in a grocery store.
I am sick of looking at car wrecks.
They always make me feel better
Wiping My Ass
It’s Sunday evening here at a hostel off Melrose and Vermont.
I had some change. It was time to get off the street. I’m not going to let her win.
It’s 9:30. I want to eat.
Some black twenty somethings from Atlanta are fussing it up in the dining room.
No one is wearing masks in the kitchen.
As I put a pan on the stove filled with cheap Hormel chili,
A young man comes from out of nowhere and says to me smiling.
“You’re a shaman!”
His eyes are wild with spirit.
I wonder if he will ever come down and what will happen to him when he does.
His words were so quick and direct that I think, “Is this a message from God?”
“I may be” I reply. “But I still have to wipe my ass like every body else”
Liking the Dare
Cynthia came in close to me after yoga class.
A first timer daring me to be a part of her life.
Her boyfriend, Felix, stood next to her.
We made a date to meet the next Tuesday at the newsstand on Larchmont.
Not to fuck though.
I don’t do that. But I do like the dare.
She stood me up. I get home. She left a message on the answering machine.
“I can’t make it. My neighbor got into a fight with her boyfriend.
I had to take care of her baby girl.”
She calls later that night to apologize.
“I also have to let you know that I am a call girl”
I call her back a year later to apologize
For how I treated her on the phone that night.
She’s glad I did. We talk.
“How can you be with men who are such assholes!” I ask.
“I have to find something in them to love” she says.
I wish we were still in touch
Getting Off at Vermont
Driving east on the 10 toward downtown
Thinking of the times I wished I had a son.
My Honda Insight named Trixie hums along nicely
10 years old and still looking good.
Trixie was a gift to me from a gay friend
Who knew I’d been down on my luck for awhile
I’m in a better place now.
Scratches all around but the insurance is paid for and the tank is full of gas.
It’s when I vote in the presidential elections.
I didn’t even care who win. I just wish he was there with me.
I then think, “How come you don’t think of having a daughter”
I have to get off at Vermont so I can cry.
