In the Tavern of Lost Souls Read online

  "Take up masturbation."

  "Just why are we here, then?"

  "Because, one, by reading our poems and listening to each other's, we become better poets. It's a cultural sharing. I know I come away with a few new ideas to try each time. And, two, if we didn't meet, I wouldn't write poems. I'd just think about writing poems. And, three, I improve my poetry by seeing how you respond to my poems. I watch each of you for the way you squint your eyes and slurp your drinks if you don't like something, and how you act if you do."

  "Enough! Let's read. I'm going to practice my squinting and slurping in advance."

  "Maybe you'll like my poem?"

  "On this topic? Fat chance."

  "It was a tough topic. Or should I say a stupid question. But I, for one, am quite satisfied with what I did with it."

  "Maybe you're getting better."

  "Maybe I've learned how to write poems suitable for three wierdos and a bartender."

  *

  Should a Bed have a Zipper? [Blossom]

  a bed is a zipper

  you just have to watch carefully

  to see whether, every night

  you're coming a little bit together

  or a little further apart.

  *

  Should a Bed have a Zipper? [Calhoun]

  Pay attention

  This is particularly important

  Especially if you think you're being followed

  Your name;

  If you find it in a magazine

  Sometime between insomnia and the touch of dawn

  You must act quickly

  Tear the sheets from the sweating bed

  Wrap them around you (no time, no time for clumsy zippers)

  Get onto the street

  Ignore the dark lawns, the occasional car

  The dark-cloaked gypsy whistling, the badly-dressed vampires

  Stalking memories, God calling people home

  Somewhere, people are tired of waiting

  Somewhere they're ready to roll the stone away

  And

  You must be there!

  *

  Should a Bed have a Zipper? [Lollie]

  Oh, God, yes, a woman needs

  A bed with two lives, firmly separated

  By a zipper. At least

  One part the childhood bed

  With enough room for a teddy bear

  A spread with a print of Sleeping Beauty

  The late morning sun through the lace curtains,

  A stuffed brown puppy fallen on the floor

  And, on the wall, a picture of a horse.

  Zip, unzip, flip, change: the room transformed

  She has her other bed, all

  Red satin, with enough room for a hairy

  Snorting man, all hands and laugh and groin.

  A Picasso print on the wall

  Black dress on the floor, and

  Six hours till breakfast.

  When a woman approaches a bed

  At bedtime or any other time

  You must be very careful to find out

  Which bed she wants to get into.

  *

  Should a bed have a zipper? [Alf]

  May the sun bless your heart

  Every day

  Every day of your life

  May the moon frame your lips

  With silver

  Every night

  May you smile

  When I come through your door

  Till the morning

  Till the morning wakes us

  But if I find your bed empty, one day

  And all those zippers drawn tight

  May I leave as quietly as yesterday's starlight

  Taking with me only a memory of

  Sunlight, moonlight

  And your smile

  ****

  Chapter 28: If I Have A New Home, Can I Eat My Cereal on a TV Tray?

  "Not as funny as it could be," Cal said. He set his beer on the TV tray in front of him. Lollie, Alf, and Blossom had their own TV trays, facing each other. Cal looked over towards the bartender; he was watching the wall, as usual.

  "Shaky," Lollie noted. "Be careful."

  "You'll note," Alf said, "that none of the TV trays match."

  "All we need now," Blossom said, "is a new home."

  "Nope," Lollie said. "Not again no more." She took a big sip of beer and looked up at the TV screen, blinking her eyes rapidly. "I don't expect any more good moves. Not unless the lottery comes through for me."

  "I've had a lot of new homes," Blossom said. "Every one started out summer and ended up winter. The only way to get back to summer is to get another new home."

  "I've been listening to the trucks in the street." Lollie folded and unfolded her poems. "I hate them for their motion. Because they're going someplace and I'm not. When it rains all day I can feel the clouds moving over top of the apartment building. They're moving and I'm not."

  The fries arrived, and Lollie handed the bartender a set of the poems.

  "Every man," Alf said, "knows that he's really just a little boy. He pretends to be grown up, but he's always afraid someone will find out."

  "Every woman," Lollie said, "lives on the precipice of madness. Love and biological clocks and children and parents and coffins…. We lean on love, and there's nothing to love but men and your kids, and when we end up in that empty apartment, with a wine glass on a TV tray, we have nothing to turn to."

  "It's a rough decision." Cal spoke up. "Should I have another beer or just throw myself in front of a steetcar?"

  "You're a shit," Blossom said.

  "Go for the streetcar," Lollie said.

  "In that case, I'll go for the beer. Then we can get back to generalizing about men and women." Cal got up.

  "I'll go with you," Lollie said. "In case the aliens come to get you back."

  *

  If I Have A New Home, Can I Eat My Cereal on a TV Tray? [Calhoun]

  I will get nothing from the tooth fairy

  When I spit out my last tooth

  No praise from the nurses

  When they finally diaper me

  And nothing when I say

  My last word

  But they'll remember me

  I was the one who ate his meals

  On a TV tray

  Because I would not stop trying

  To carve my name

  Into the oak dining table

  Nobody discards fine oak.

  *

  If I Have A New Home, Can I Eat My Cereal on a TV Tray? [Blossom]

  around midnight, it began to snow.

  we turned out the lights, and watched

  the diamonds float past the streetlights

  i wanted to light a candle; he said no; that

  cold and bright have their own beauty

  and warmth is danger, then

  i wondered what voyage his mind was taking

  and if his heart would follow.

  i offered him hot chocolate on a tv tray

  we watched the cold and the bright.

  *

  If I Have A New Home, Can I Eat My Cereal On A TV Tray? [Alf]

  Give away everything that might

  Outlast you

  Put it all into

  Love, laughter, and life

  Laughter is a light bark, easily sunk by

  The weight of gold, Ikea tables, and fine glassware

  Drink your favorite wines only in cracked cups

  Eat easy-to-peel tangerines

  Love is quite durable, but if it forgets joy

  It becomes an empty table in a cold Paris winter.

  Invest everything in love

  But only if it brings laughter

  Invest everything in laughter

  Life does not allow

  The harvest of chaff

  However much you pay for it.

  *

  If I Have A New Home, Can I Eat My Cereal on a TV Tray? [Lollie]

  Oh, yes, yes.


  You must.

  Don’t ask how I know. I won’t tell. Not yet.

  Lawn chairs. Better yet, a shipping crate. Please.

  TV trays from garage sales.

  Get new ones each week. Fresh furniture, like paper towels.

  Even curtains are chains to the moment that you bought them and who you bought them with (use sack cloth on the windows).

  There are locks with no keys, timestamped with the howling pain of old laughter. You don’t want this. Trust me.

  Did you know they don’t let you throw old furniture into the canal and beds into the harbor? The Grimsby police Sgt. Anderson will have a word with you, Dr. Beaton, too. He doesn’t listen to reason.

  Short leases. Destroy all your furniture before you leave.

  That’s the way the world runs. Pick only what you can destroy. Leave in the night.

  There’s not a hell of a lot I learned.

  That’s it. Burn these words after you’ve eaten them.

  ****

  Chapter 29: When is it Funny to be a Slave?

  The four stared at each other across the table. They'd arrived as usual, but had been refused beer, the bartender offering no explanation.

  Unsettled, they had read their poems and sat in silence.

  The bartender arrived, carrying the usual plate of fries. Stuck into the middle of the pile were five lit birthday candles.

  The bartender turned and beckoned. From a far table came a middle-aged woman with a large hat. "Wonderful!" she cried. "Someone's birthday!" She sang "Happy Birthday to Whoever" five times, and kissed everyone on the cheek and patted them on the head.

  Then she pulled up a chair, and began telling everyone about her birthdays, as much as she could remember, from age three on. She remembered an astonishing amount.

  Abruptly, Cal leapt up, looking at his wrist. "Omigod, the last bus is due in a minute." The effect, Lollie noted, would have been better if he'd actually had a watch, but it was enough.

  "No!" Blossom cried, getting her coat and purse.

  "I can't afford another taxi!" Alf grabbed a handful of the fries, and, stuffing them into a pocket, ran for the door.

  Lollie sat there for another hour, listening.

  *

  When is it Funny to be a Slave? [Lollie]

  His shoes unmatched, untied, his open fly unfurls

  His shirt, one tawny tail to golden autumn sun.

  I kneel in leaves just out of range of wino breath

  To toss him magic bottle, plastic shape encasing

  Whiskey spirits. One wish granted him this day.

  Eyes focus, hand one reaching, hand two swipes

  At matted mane and drool in gorgon beard.

  I heave a sigh, said, “I cannot ignore you longer;

  It’s compassion now, or mockery, and I need all

  Pity for myself. So today I’ll laugh at you.

  Your masters must be entertained, so dance, man dance.”

  Beyond the cooling sky God guffaws too, I know;

  Free will, free whiskey, dances free on city streets.

  He drinks, then smiles and offers it to me. I refuse.

  “Dance for all us gods,” I whisper once again

  I show him a jig, a pirouette, and hum a tune.

  He drops the bottle, eyes roll up – too rich I guess.

  “A fine comedy,” I tell a passer-by

  But as a musical, it’s missing quite a bit.”

  “Maybe so,” he says, “But I thought you danced quite well.”

  *

  When is it Funny to be a Slave? [Blossom]

  after

  a thousand years, and a dozen beers

  or

  a dozen years and a thousand beers

  I've got lots of photos:

  it'll be a hoot.

  *

  When is it Funny to be a Slave? [Calhoun]

  "No," she said, the last yellow

  Leaves of poplars dancing

  Around her feet,

  "No."

  I tried to tell her what I knew, that

  Laughter is made of strings.

  "They've paved Florida," I told her instead

  My hands in my pockets

  "Can't pave warmth," she said

  Kicking the leaves,

  "I'll sit on the beach

  Watch the kids flying their kites."

  I lost a kite like that, once

  The string snapping

  The kite soon gone

  Me, wailing after it.

  I don't believe it flies

  Forever

  But the kite never listened

  Either.

  *

  When is it Funny to be a Slave? [Alf]

  For God's sake, let us sit in this damned bar and plan a

  Worldwide conference, before it's too late.

  Let's get the men of the world together

  Let's talk about our balls.

  You heard me, Alf. Nuts, testicles, cojones

  Our lords and masters, from Thermopylae to Guadalcanal

  From the football team to Bikini Atoll

  Our balls run our brains. A bit of Jupiter Juice in the lower

  Regions and suddenly there's swords and blood and history

  And evolution running amok.

  Yes, the most intellectual of conferences (no women allowed

  They have a solution, but you don't want to know. It involves

  Doctor's offices, stirrups, and hammers, for a start)

  All in a big tent and we'll determine who wants to lead.

  We'll ban those bastards, of course, and anyone who

  Is willing to fight for the cause.

  Have another Guinness, Alf. This is going to take some thought

  A whole lot of thought. A whole lot of Guinness.

  ****

  Chapter 30: What is the Experience of Cartoons?

  When Lollie entered the room, she fully expected the bartender to hand out Mickey Mouse masks. Not, she thought, that we really need them.

  But the bartender was not the same bartender as before. A sleepy gray-haired woman poured Lollie a glass of draft. Lollie held it up to see if it had any bubbles. Just barely. She took her seat at the Usual Table.

  Ten minutes later, Alf came in. He brought his beer to the table. "Hi, he said. He set a Daffy Duck mug on to the table and poured his beer into it. "Cheers," he said.

  "Cheers. How are you, tonight?"

  "Not bad. What happened to our bartender?"

  "Beats me. Probably sold our poems for a million bucks and is living in Florida."

  "Anything's possible. How's your poetry?"

  "Some good, some not so good. Don't particularly like tonight's."

  "I'm with you. I've written better. Something about the topic.

  Cal and Blossom came up together, carrying their drinks. "What happened to our crazy bartender?" Cal held Blossom's chair for her.

  "Don't know. Not sure whether to mourn or cheer. Did you bring a poem?"

  "Of course. Not one of my better ones."

  Blossom yawned. "We gotta meet earlier in the evening. I'm getting too old for midnight trysts. Maybe I'll take up knitting instead. I imagine knitters get to bed before ten."

  "Don't think so." Lollie nodded to the bar. The new bartender was knitting as she watched the TV.

  "Damn. Deal."

  *

  What is the Experience of Cartoons? [Alf]

  "Hey!" I said, reaching up to tickle the feet just above me.

  "You're not dead yet, are you?" The feet didn't even wiggle but

  I continued anyway. "What's the matter, fella? No spidey-silk to

  Immobilize the Enemy? No Super-Powers to vanquish legions?"

  I squinted in the dry light to the sparse crowd below. The city

  Stank, and not just the smoke from Gehenna. Soldiers, bored as

  Plowhorses watched the clouds. I continued, eating a sandwich:

  "The Hulk could have slaug
htered a few Romans with a timber

  That size, you know. Batman, even, would be standing on

  Herod's palace, right now, scowling."

  A drop of red blood just missed me: I could sell this stuff for

  A bundle, I thought, but what the hell.

  "You still up there?" I asked. "Fine way to spend a Saturday

  Morning. Eh?" I scratched my ribs. Looked around: the other

  Two guys were thoroughly dead. Crows picked at their eyes.

  "You won't be forgotten," I added. But even a demo of

  X-ray vision might have made a difference.

  Don't die on me yet: I'm not finished."

  But there was nothing I could add. A Superhero either is,

  Or isn't. You fight nasty monsters from other galaxies, or

  You don't.

  This fellow didn't. Two paths diverged on the dusty road to

  Jerusalem. Superjew took the one, and that has made all the

  Difference.

  *

  What is the Experience of Cartoons? [Calhoun]

  One moment I was singing in the sunshine

  The next

  Someone drops this house on me

  When that happens, you can be quite sure

  Some young brat will run up

  To steal your ruby slippers

  Oh, I'm not bitter

  She was young, I was old

  And the locals were glad of something

  With a prettier face

  I don't mind the slippers

  But I wish I still had the road

  The sunshine

  And the road.

  *

  What is the Experience of Cartoons? [Blossom]

  Broom Hilda meets

  the Lyin' King?

  order another pitcher, Lollie

  and one for the guys.

  near the end, I used to use the Saturday comics

  as liner for the cat box

  before he got a chance to see them.

  *

  What is the Experience of Cartoons? [Lollie]

  It seems that

  Sylvester the cat and

  Wile E. Coyote

  Have teamed up

  And neither Tweety Bird, nor

  Beep Beep

  Are answering their phones

  I eat my raisin bran

  Drink a tea, and contemplate

  A large roll of dynamite

  On the kitchen table.

  ****

  Chapter 31: Why Do Men Have Nipples?

  Lollie sat alone at the Usual Table. The bartender was knitting a sweater. It was more exciting than what was on the television.