Crucifix In A Deathhand

yes, they begin out in a willow, I think

the starch mountains begin out in the willow

and keep right on going without regard for

pumas and nectarines

somehow these mountains are like

an old woman with a bad memory and

a shopping basket.

we are in a basin. that is the

idea. down in the sand and the alleys,

this land punched-in, cuffed-out, divided,

held like a crucifix in a deathhand,

this land bought, resold, bought again and

sold again, the wars long over,

the Spaniards all the way back in Spain

down in the thimble again, and now

real estaters, subdividers, landlords, freeway

engineers arguing. this is their land and

I walk on it, live on it a little while

near Hollywood here I see young men in rooms

listening to glazed recordings

and I think too of old men sick of music

sick of everything, and death like suicide

I think is sometimes voluntary, and to get your

hold on the land here it is best to return to the

Grand Central Market, see the old Mexican women,

the poor . . . I am sure you have seen these same women

many years before

arguing

with the same young Japanese clerks

witty, knowledgeable and golden

among their soaring store of oranges, apples

avocados, tomatoes, cucumbers -

and you know how

these

look, they do look good

as if you could eat them all

light a cigar and smoke away the bad world.

then it's best to go back to the bars, the same bars

wooden, stale, merciless, green

with the young policeman walking through

scared and looking for trouble,

and the beer is still bad

it has an edge that already mixes with vomit and

decay, and you've got to be strong in the shadows

to ignore it, to ignore the poor and to ignore yourself

and the shopping bag between your legs

down there feeling good with its avocados and

oranges and fresh fish and wine bottles, who needs

a Fort Lauderdale winter?

25 years ago there used to be a whore there

with a film over one eye, who was too fat

and made little silver bells out of cigarette

tinfoil. the sun seemed warmer then

although this was probably not

true, and you take your shopping bag

outside and walk along the street

and the green beer hangs there

just above your stomach like

a short and shameful shawl, and

you look around and no longer

see any

old men.