WAS A CLOSET WOMAN (on
PASSING THROUGH EL PASO (on
THE WIND OF EASY (on
MY PERSONAL WANTS TO GET PERSONAL
WHAT'S A BI-CUSPAL WOMAN TO DO?
I JUST NOTICED
ON THE OCCASION OF MY LOVER'S CELIBACY
OUR MOTHERS - OURSELVES
THE WILD MAN OF NINTH AVENUE
MR. L.A. (on
THE SINGER (on
SERGI'S SURGERY (on
FIFTY - AS FAR AWAY FROM ME AS POSSIBLE
was getting on the bus and there he was -
about 25, whitish, wearing a ratty tan overcoat
and a rattier hat,
surrounded by four of the most enormous suitcases
I have ever seen.
He asks me for a token.
The request annoys me.
I get on the bus annoyed.
He sits right across from me,
barricades himself behind the suitcases.
His alarm hangs out all over me,
protrudes from his overcoat and seeps out the ends
of his long beleaguered fingernails, enticingly.
"I'm from L. A." he explains.
"I was on my way to Paris when I got mugged.
Can you help me?"
His eyes are hazel.
They explode into mine.
I want to tell him about the time I was on the streets.
"Where are you going?" I ask instead.
"Why are you going there?"
"I don't know. Can you help me?"
"I have no money and your suitcases are bigger than my apartment,
but good luck Mr. L. A." I offer,
stepping off the bus.
The wish sounds vapid.
It clatters in my head
like a token.