I’m still no good

she writes me that she is homeless
now.

what a galling fix, I think.
this lady who lived with another
female executive in the hills,
drove a late model car,
and bore up with a drunken slob
in her bed (me).
this lady who had her own
office,
this lady who discovered talent,
promoted it.
this lady who had the world
famous over for parties
is now homeless.
“I’m used to it now,” she
writes, “it no longer bothers
me.”

it is a two page letter.
I read it, fold it up, put it in
a drawer and don’t
answer.

I am as cold as the world.
if it doesn’t bother her, it
doesn’t bother me.

I get on my exercise bike,
begin pumping away while
listening to
Wagner.

this is the way she’d like to
see me, I’m
sure.