the fuck-master

Arnie was way ahead of all of us, he began shaving
first and he always flashed these rubbers at us
in their mysterious tin cases
and he was the first one with an automobile
and he always had some girl in his
car, always a new one
sitting there still and frightened-like
and we knew he was fucking all of them
and also
he knew where to get gin, he’d get them
drunk on gin and then he’d do it to
them
and that was in Jr. High
and when we all went   on to
High
Arnie kept going back to Jr. High
and picking up the Jr. High girls
in his car, it was like he was stuck
back there in Jr.
High.
some time went on and then Arnie
dropped out of High and
I forgot about
him.

a couple of years later I was walking down this
street one afternoon
and here I came upon
Arnie
Christ, he looked all wizened, almost
vanished,   and somehow
putrid.

I had gotten big and I flashed onto things
easily, had some
knowing.

I slapped him on the back, “Hey, Arnie,
FUCKER, how ya
doin’?”

“hi, Hank,” he
said.

we shook hands; his hand was trembling
and sweaty.

I let go of
it.

“well, see you around, cousin,” I
said.

I
left him there.

the poor guy had fucked himself away, completely
fucked himself
away.

and I still had all of
mine.

when I got my car I’d rape the whole
city of
Los Angeles.