4505. HEY DOOFUS, I DON'T EVEN USE WHAT I HAVE

HEY DOOFUS, I DON'T

EVEN USE WHAT I HAVE

Five skyline aspirins, in one big gulp, not water attended, 
no sparkle, no effervescence or fizz. It all went down like the 
wire at a fenceline  -  some brutal force stretched taut across 
a roadway and catching all those snowy snomobilers off guard  
-  there were bloodied heads scattered all across the white and 
snowy field. I took my tankard of ale and walked home; hearing 
the  screams as I left. So weird, how those heads still screamed
 for a moment or two down on the snow-encrusted ground. Those 
full-throttled machines, without real 'riders' now, just kept 
throttling  along. I always loved the thought of dressing up 
Vermont, and  decorating Pennsylvania, of classing up 
New Hampshire.  All those beautifully boring places.

-

I really wanted to talk to a friend, not a fiend. I try chatting 
up Aleck, but it was headed  -  I could see already  -  to Hell. 
The scapegoat was going to be me once again, but only if I let it. 
The vacancy at the head of the class  -  no, no, I already had 
rewarded  that to him. I quit trying a long time ago. As Philip 
Roth  would put  it in 'American Pastoral', in Old Rimrock 
there's no rim-rock at all.

-

Why then should I try? The blood is just going to drip down

the cornice again, the sneaking eyes will squander my vision,

the burro and the ass will run off with my load. I am too old and

tired, now, to even carry arms or intentions or grudges.

To me, they can all go to Hell awaiting my answers.

I am too pure for the animus they strut.