Thirty-Fourth Entry

I started a full time job and it is horrible! I knew putting my nose to the grindstone was going to be a pain but I'm pretty sure I'm not just a sissy and this actually is a really tough, stressful job. It involves puppies.

I'm going home for a week and am looking forward to it very much. I am looking forward to the silence, the cable, the food, the two or three people who are my friends, people who smoke inside and drink cheaply, and of course my family and the turkey they eat.

I really have a thing for turkey.

But I'm not looking forward to seeing a bunch of old friends who I think might want to punch me now. My strategy: keep a low profile. Also my friend Justyn came to nyc to visit and I adore her! She's from Mystic and she runs a gallery now and is a professional bra-fitter by day, which cracks me up.

Here's my poem:

GOOD EVENING

Somehow I lost my green denim coat.
It was like a young friend,
constantly wanting my attention and advice.
I vomited in the trashcan,
and drug it around with me
showing it to everyone I saw.

But I didn’t see everyone. The stars
Sat on the roof, they were juvenile delinquents.
I slipped in the mop water. My face
felt snow and pavement. What am I
supposed to do now? How about that
hand mirror I gave you, do you still have it?

Yes, I am assured, you still have it.
Somehow duct tape got involved
and it also got on my jacket
and my jacket walked away
while I constructed this indignant face.
Did it work? Were you fooled?

I sat on the raft, I was
a vulture unashamed of his position,
you should have seen your face
as it separated from you, I’m so sorry
that I laughed but if you had been
where I was I’d be dead now.

In thy casket thou wore my denim coat.
I wore my indignant face and thy white tuxedo tails.
I sat on the bed and you should have seen my face
when it was your face and it was pressing against my leg
but that was never my face, when your head
came off when you were hit by that van

I was talking about your face and my face
was green and I was gesticulating, teasing
you with my delinquent fingers. I dig you up
and take you out every night: the mistake
is that others think that you are dead
but the vultures won’t even talk to you.