Ice

swine under the purple moon in
platinum curlers,
lilac leaves beneath the flea
tree,
bum beneath the honeymoon tree,
barber with the shakes,
photo of Tom Mix,
dirty underwear of sweet little
girls,
thin wire about a chicken coop,
the beard of Castro
the bread of Communion,
DiMaggio lighting a cigarette in Oakland
as through the streets
lady torturers shake their priceless
bungholes;
the Kennedy deaths now like old gangster
movies, the real-estator’s shall
inherit–
who will bury the undertaker?
who will swallow the geek?
who will scrub my kitchen
floor?

I went to a hockey game the other
night
trying to measure and decipher
victory and defeat and
exultation; when the game was over
we walked to the parking lot
got into your cars and
drop away as
meaningless as
ever.