All Day, Just for a Minute
Without
care, without help, without help. Without longing or shoes. Dig what you don't have in. Ah God what wonderful
luck. I love
you. Does that help?
Go away. Long without water, trapped
between roads. On that very
bridge in
Give it up. Does it nourish? Does it help?
Help.
Chapter Three. Here is where
the lovers part, unable to make sense.
Try try don't get mad. Circle the
TV set and count to four. Hope for hope
to rinse us clear. I love you. Good luck.
Help.
(Inside the bridges, inside a
car, workers have to saw through a woman, dead two days, to get to the child.)
Chapter One. A name or a house. A car or a wound.
:over by the console a miserable marriage of the fifties
tries to be what some random god said be be.
Drunk, philandering, heart disease; gossipy alienated hates kids forgot
what it feels like to feel. You know
that story. Are we still writing the
same chapter? Are we still in the same
edition?
1957. Men with narrow ties and shaved heads all
march off to work. Computer's the newest
thing. Look, Dad. Feel
the green letters cross this screen then cross again,
scratch scratch. I rubbed your feet when
you were dying. You were out of your
mind. I can't begin to get out.
Rockets to the moon, wonder
bread, Fathers as heads
of the country:
simple relief when bridges fall down.
Come on, now, admit it. Remember that fellow trapped between two
bridges, four whole days? Everyone looking for someone, anyone, at least one poor schmuck in
the rubble alive. Get him out get
him out hello in there anyone anyone who.
Down in the cracks a long and
unforgettable ragtime jazz or otherwise swampy and heart-felt, heat-felt music
began. Oh love. Oh you
life delight: light
rising easy, bit of barely cool breeze.
Breathe. You're alive. They're pulling you out. Four days like like like like
jackhammering the door down where images start out of flames, the
kind that just come and come. Oh
humanity your bells your trumpets blessed father my light.
Monday through Wednesday. Called but got a busy signal. Called but got a dial tone. Something's wrong. Called but they said you were buried
alive. Were you leaving town or trying
to get back? Were you thinking
about never mind.
Called but got the sound of
coins, clattering to the floor. Called sweet simple sickening lust. Gimme. Gotcha. Heresa treat.
Take it outside, now; don't spill.
New Year's Eve. Remember? You remember.
You struck the match because you knew you weren't supposed to. That's what learning is. Suck the world up you rascally boozer. But I'm
not drunk. That's the amazing thing,
amazing thing is I can hear you and I'm not even drunk. Thank you.
I'm listening in gulps.
All Day, Just for a Minute, I feel the mannekin's terrible relief, looking back
at last at those who stare. I think
about the hot days of summer when nothing was ever so hot. Fruit, as they say, dripping. The wind a secret I cannot keep. Say anything we're connected and I want to be
connected. Fruit falls when it damn well
wants.