PACKAGED LIGHT
There was a broadstream at
22nd street, and I had nowhere
to go. Maybe over to Pete's, at
Gramercy, but I was so tired
of that show-offy crowd. In
fact, tired of it all again.
-
The bus ran down the curb and
the old ladies cackled as the
black kid jumped the line. The
very idea of doing anything
about it, nowadays, is anathema.
We're all supposed to accept.
-
A thudding hurt was in my gut,
and I knew my knife could pierce
him. But even I removed myself
from such a precipice.
-
Once I remembered some camera'd
lady in Spain - she so badly wished
to be gored by a bull. I had heard
of Hemingway fixations before, but
she took the cake, or whatever it is
that Spaniards take.
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