It was 6 Decembers ago
I was just a kid
And she was 2 years younger
Her mother drove us both
To the clinic
There were middle aged women
Waiting at the door
And they were mad
At me
At her
At her mother.
We pushed past
Walked to the counter
I swiped my debit card
$365.
Really?
I used my first
Christmas bonus.
Then her mother decided
We would leave her there
Have breakfast with one of
her friends
Then come back
When she was
Done.
I had sausage, eggs, hash browns
Toast, and my first
Black coffee.
Her mother and the friend
Spoke in Spanish
I didn't know
What the hell they were saying
But knew they were talking
About us.
We finished
And drove back to the clinic.
She asked "Well...you learned your lesson
Mijo?"
I was busy, trying to figure out
What the hell
I was now.
"Yes..."
We arrived and picked her up.
Only it wasn't her.
It was something mutilated
It was something murdered.
We got back to her
Bed
And she pulled the covers
Over her head.
I wanted to ask
"...What happened in there...?"
But I cried instead
And kissed her all over her
Wet face.
She was death. Breathing...
A few months ago
I got wasted and brought it all up
Again.
Some girl at the party said
She had done it too.
"What the hell happens in there?"
I screamed
She explained
I was too drunk to listen.
Ya know,
I read Hemingway's
Hills Like White Elephants
And the "operation"
Totally flew over
My head.
What the hell happened in there?
Something.
Necessary.

Ma has a new
Saying
When I drive down to visit.
I sit in her kitchen
And she says
"I didn't know what I was doing. I just wish
That I had been
a better mother."
I wonder if it
Is my face
Or what I came to be
That makes her
Think about that.
"Well...its tough out there, you did your best ma..."
She forces a smile
Then looks down at the tile.
I drive back home
Doing 65 in a 35 zone
Blasting Hank Williams
While all my fellow
Mexicans
Frown at me
From their
Car windows.
I walk into
RM. 101
Crack open a pint
Inhale
Stare down at the tile
Sigh.
Someday
I'll be
Somethin
Ma.

Karma exists!
It is real.
I have felt it.
It feels
Like digesting
A machete.
I have been waiting
Years
For this
To pass.

There were managers
College grads
Conspiring in the corner
Next to the dumpster
And the women complained
About mistreatment
And the men worked with
Aching backs
Dying to prove
Something.
Everybody is busy
Everybody is angry
Nobody feels
Fulfilled.
Some walked fast
Some dragged themselves
Some sweated
Some laughed
Some screamed
Some looked
Miserable.
Everybody submitted.
Christ...
It's just retail.
Every morning
I say to myself
"I'm going in,
but I ain't doin
****
Today."

There were legs
Everywhere
Tensing
Writhing
She crawled
All over
A spider mounted
The horse.
We were spitting
On everything
The church killed for
And everything
That science killed for.
The walls couldn't hold
The shrieking hawk
The coyote howl.
Without the clothing
Without the sanity
Without pretending
We were ugly animals.
It was life
It was wrong
It was nature
It was ******
It felt good.
To stop being
Human
For a few
Minutes.

I never gave a **** about literature.
Until the women were gone
And the loneliness replaced them
And the words kept the loneliness
From becoming
Unbearable.
One Ex-girlfriend
Used to read often
And write poetry
She tried too hard.
There was a lot of big words
Mashed together
And the ideas were always
Too grand.
She wrote a dumb downed poem
For me one time
And pasted it
On the back of a polaroid picture
I loved that picture
Me on a ***** couch
With my beautiful long black hair
18 Surrounded by 4 beautiful 17 year old girls.
I'm only 24 now
But I feel more like 47.
The poem began
"Cigarette smoke in this cold weather
The shiny studs on your black leather"
Something about tantalizing...
She always used tantalizing....
I always think about
Being 47
And laughing about
Nights
Like this.

I couldn't take it.
Watching people shoveling
****
Into their mouths
While staring at
TV commercials.
Some just sat and
Stared
For a whole 45 minutes
Slouched in a chair
Mouth opened slightly
One hand clutching the opposite arm
Looking down at
the phone occasionally
Like there was something happening.
I couldn't do it
So I started bringing my books
To work.
I wasn't trying to be
Some intellectual
****, I definitely don't look
Or talk like one.
Then it began.
First with the short Mexican girl
"Whatchu reading?"
"Nausea"
"Oh...I wish I could read, buuut...I don't know.. , I get bored, even if its inchressing, ya know?"
"You just have to find the right author."
"Oh...I don't know...my eyes juss get all blurred after I read a long time..."
"Hmm..."
Then the old lady
"Hey! I always see you reading, you must be a bookworm like me! What are ya reading!?"
"Journey To The End Of The Night"
Oh, never heard of it, who's the author?!"
"This french guy. Celine."
"Oh? Ever read Game Of Thrones? I'm reading the series now!"
"No."
The college graduate girl:
"Are you reading Bukowski??"
"Yeah, you a fan?"
"NO!!! He makes me wanna curl up in bed and DIE!"
"Oh..."
And some dude asked about
Anne Rice
" I don't read that ****."
"What about Poe?"
"He's ok, I guess..."
Somebody asked about
Catcher in the Rye
To **** a mockingbird
And I wanted to slap her.
A manager walked in
The **** one
"Ray your always reading. It's cool.
You seem so ...cultured."
I thought about being
Drunk
Shirtless
Screaming
And throwing chairs
The night before
I laughed
"Cultured? I don't know about that..."
When you see
Somebody
Transfixed
By the power of the word
The page
The line
You
Just leave them
The hell alone.