9617. NOTHING TO DELIVER

NOTHING TO DELIVER

Did you really have to sneeze while I was

hiding here? I know I'm always bringing

people around, but that's just the way I

am. I even haunt flea markets and junkyards

where I may find them. Nothing's too good

for my baby  -  like that ancient song used

to go. Now? I just run to the flower district

and sleep. Jennie O. leaves me candy and

cakes, something to eat outdoors. It's all so

easy when you're an old man. Or so it seems;

like everyone wants to help and take care

of you. There's never a place where I can't

sit down. Pass the time. Snooze. Even the

construction guys  -  mostly jerks  -  they

come outside often, for a smoke or coffee

(it's a wonder how these buildings ever

get done), and they just start talking, or

offer me something. Then, of course, for

all of them it's right to the phone. Craziest

thing in the world. Glad I don't have that.

-

Mostly though, I like looking at the cars

and trucks, and the lady cops. Now there's

a lot of that. I'm not sure how they function,

but I guess it's okay. Fast? Strong? What

matter; got the gun. They. Do. There used

to be horses  -  forty, fifty years ago. Way

up high, it seemed, the mounted cops looked

so massive, and the horses just lazed. Really.

I never saw any action at all. Even that's

all gone now. People sell felafel, and talk

of foreign lands. Everybody seems to

have so much on their hands. I don't

understand.

-

My little coloring book has a few pages left,

but, hell, I can't even remember where I last

had my crayons, or even if I ever did. Have

them, I mean. Most places, water's still free,

but just try to get it. Mostly now, they want

money for every little thing  -  and not just

pennies, I mean real money. The dogs that

bark probably get paid for that. 

-

I'll think about stuff, like this, all night long  -

looking out over the pasty harbor and watching

each of those fleet-footed visitors with their

ice-creams and sodas, kids running rampant,

the daughters and sons of some other privilege.

Like some Mercury, messenger of the ancient

Gods, but one that just never shuts up. Nowhere

to go, and nothing to deliver.