Love is a Dog from Hell (6 page)

 

we were in bed and

she started to fight:

“you son of a bitch! you just wait a minute,

I’ll get you!”

 

I began laughing:

“what’s the matter? what’s the matter?”

 

“you son of a bitch!” she screamed.

 

I held her hands as she squirmed.

 

she was a couple of decades younger than I

a health food freak.

she was
very
strong.

 

“you son of a bitch! I’ll get you!”

she screamed.

 

I rolled on top of her with my 225 pounds and

just layed it there on her.

 

“uugg, oooo, my God, that’s not
fair
, oooo, my

God!”

 

I rolled off and walked into the other room and

sat on the couch.

 

“I’ll get you, bastard,” she said, “you just

wait!”

 

“just don’t bite it off,” I said, “or you’ll make

a half dozen women very unhappy.”

 

she climbed up on the headboard of my bed

(it did have a flat though narrow surface)

and sat perched there watching the news on

tv.

the tv faced the bedroom and it illuminated

her as she sat up there on the

headboard.

 

“I thought you were sane,” I said, “but you’re

just as crazy as the rest of them.”

 

“be quiet,” she said, “I want to watch the

news!”

 

“look,” I said, “I’ll…”

 

“SHUSH!” she said.

 

and there she was up on the headboard of my bed

really watching the news. I accepted her that

way.

 

she drives into the parking lot while

I am leaning up against the fender of my car.

she’s drunk and her eyes are wet with tears:

“you son of a bitch, you fucked me when you

didn’t want to. you told me to keep phoning

you, you told me to move closer into town,

then you told me to leave you alone.”

 

it’s all quite dramatic and I enjoy it.

“sure, well, what do you want?”

 

“I want to talk to you, I want to go to your

place and talk to you…”

 

“I’m with somebody now. she’s in getting a

sandwich.”

 

“I want to talk to you…it takes a while

to get over things. I need more time.”

 

“sure. wait until she comes out. we’re not

inhuman. we’ll all have a drink together.”

 

“shit,” she says, “oh shit!”

 

she jumps into her car and drives off.

 

the other one comes out: “who was that?”

 

“an ex-friend.”

 

now
she’s
gone and I’m sitting here drunk

and my eyes seem wet with tears.

it’s very quiet and I feel like I have a spear

rammed into the center of my gut.

 

I walk to the bathroom and puke.

 

mercy, I think, doesn’t the human race know anything

about mercy?

 

I know a woman

who keeps buying puzzles

Chinese

puzzles

blocks

wires

pieces that finally fit

into some order.

she works it out

mathematically

she solves all her

puzzles

lives down by the sea

puts sugar out for the ants

and believes

ultimately

in a better world.

her hair is white

she seldom combs it

her teeth are snaggled

and she wears loose shapeless

coveralls over a body most

women would wish they had.

for many years she irritated me

with what I considered her

eccentricities—

like soaking eggshells in water

(to feed the plants so that

they’d get calcium).

but finally when I think of her

life

and compare it to other lives

more dazzling, original

and beautiful

I realize that she has hurt fewer

people than anybody I know

(and by hurt I simply mean hurt).

she has had some terrible times,

times when maybe I should have

helped her more

for she is the mother of my only

child

and we were once great lovers,

but she has come through

like I said

she has hurt fewer people than

anybody I know,

and if you look at it like that,

well,

she has created a better world.

she has won.

 

Frances, this poem is for

you.

 

horses running

with her miles away

laughing with a

fool

 

Bach and the hydrogen bomb

and her miles away

laughing with a

fool

 

the banking system

bumper jacks

gondolas in Venice

and her miles away

laughing with a

fool

you’ve never quite

seen a stairway before

(each step looking at you

separately)

and outside

the newsboy looking

immortal

as the cars go by

under a sun

like an enemy

and you wonder

why it’s so hard

to go crazy—

if you’re not already

crazy

 

until now

you’ve never seen a

stairway that looked like

a stairway

a doorknob that looked like

a doorknob

and sounds like these sounds

 

and when the spider comes out

and looks at you

finally

you don’t hate it

finally

with her miles away

laughing with a

fool.

 

we’d had any number of joints and some

beer and I was on the bed stretched out

and she said, “look, I’ve had 3 abortions

in a row, real fast, and I’m sick of

abortions, I don’t want you to stick that

thing in me!”

 

it was sticking up there and we were both

looking at it.

“ah, come on,” I said, “my girlfriend fucked

2 different guys this week and I’m trying to

get even.”

 

“don’t get me involved in your domestic

horseshit! now what I want you to do is

to BEAT that thing OFF while I WATCH!

I want to WATCH while you beat that thing

OFF! I want to see it shoot JUICE!”

 

“o.k. get your face closer.”

 

she got it closer and I spit on my palm

and began working.

 

it got bigger. just before I was ready I

stopped, I held it at the bottom

stretching it,

the head throbbed

purple and shiny.

 

“oooh,” she said.

she ducked her mouth over it, sucked at

it and

pulled away.

 

“finish it off,” I said.

“no!”

 

I whacked away and then stopped again

at the last moment and held it at the

bottom and waved it all around the

bedroom.

 

she eyed it

fell upon it again

sucked

and pulled away.

 

we alternated the process

back and forth

 

again and again.

 

finally I just pulled her off

the chair

onto the bed

rolled on top of her

stuck it in

worked it

worked it

and came.

 

when she walked back out of

the bathroom she said,

“you son of a bitch, I love you,

I’ve loved you for a long time.

when I get back to Santa Barbara

I’m going to write you. I’m

living with this guy but I hate

him, I don’t even know what I’m

doing with him.”

 

“o.k.,” I said, “but you’re up

now. can you get me a glass of

water? I’m dry.”

she walked into the kitchen and

I heard her remark that

all my drinking glasses were

dirty.

 

I told her to use a

coffee cup. I

heard the water running and I

thought, one more fuck

I’ll be even

and I can be in love with my girlfriend again—

that is

if she hasn’t slipped in an

extra

and she probably

has.

 

“I’ve made it,” she said, “I’ve come

through.” she had on new boots, pants

and a white sweater. “I know what I

want now.” she was from Chicago and

had settled in L.A.’s Fairfax district.

 

“you promised me champagne,”

she said.

“I was drunk when I phoned. how about

a beer?”

“no, pass me your joint.”

she inhaled, let it out:

“this isn’t very good stuff.”

she handed it back.

 

“there’s a difference,” I said, “between

making it and simply becoming hard.”

 

“you like my boots?”

“yes, very nice.”

“listen, I’ve got to go. can I use

your bathroom?”

“sure.”

 

when she came out she had on a

large lipstick mouth. I hadn’t seen

one of those since I was a boy.

I kissed her in the doorway

feeling the lipstick rub off on my

lips.

 

“goodbye,” she said.

“goodbye,” I said.

 

she went up the walk toward her car.

I closed the door.

she knew what she wanted and it wasn’t

me.

I know more women like that than any

other kind.