last sunday (part V)
I. a bad, stupid man
please forgive me this is all I have to offer
this emotional
oatmeal
i don’t have the answer to this problem
the insight or comparison
i’m just a bowl of oatmeal against the screaming
I wish I were a fighter
that this was the jungle
but I didn’t get those fists
even if I wanted ‘em
i like when its quiet
when it all slows down
and the patterns on the ceiling
but since the fall
no time for that shit
here’s your stupid war
no quiet no more
we had lots before
but now he at the door
i’m sorry, dumb bad man
i don’t know how to defeat you
i have to try and understand you
even though i don’t want to
so here go
II. Two of Us (ten beliefs donald trump and i probably share)
1. the nuclear capability of fried chicken
2. you gotta grab what you want or else it’ll get away
3. fast is sure which is better than slow which is more good but no time
4. religion is for wimps
5. everyone out to get me
6. not me, but war
7. mind if i take another one?
8. font makes right
9. there are a bunch of monkeys at the edge of town looking for a fight
10. no four-star general in the world is as dangerous as the woman you give yourself to
III. Sorry bro
donald trump, i’m sorry our bodies ache
that every morning is a campaign
that we have to prop ourselves up
with narrative hope drugs
that our bodies are battlefields
that every day we lose ground
hurder. aulder. slowier
we remember when there was
a joy in the movement
we see them on magazine covers
tan skin cocky and careless
and we buy them to rip them up
because we can’t remember
swinging our arms
walking down the street
when there was a song
a beach boys song
that you heard and thought,
“That’s pretty good! I like that song!”
You thought maybe you could write a song someday. That someday you might be happy enough.
You felt your hips move. And your feet in their shoes.
It was 1983 and Fifth avenue buoyed you along like waves.
The hairdos of beautiful women
crisp grey doormen with their moustaches
the stone cornices of apartments
the importance of tradition
you took your place
in the parade of success
gliding down the avenues
the rest of the city was drunk begging stumbling
but you were a corvette
cruising down the street
fueled by inevitability
and the city opened her legs to you
and from her
you drank deep
as long as you could see your tower you were safe
and you could see it from everywhere
there was nowhere you couldn’t go
the east was easy
the west wasn’t wild
central park was your front lawn
“i can still see it from here”
as it grew darker
i can still see it
only five blocks away
i can still
those blocks seemed far though
see it
the sun went down
still
where we now?
whoop
get out of the forest
whoop
they’ve found you
whoop
you’ve never walked faster
whoop
you start to run
whoop
you’re stumbling
whoop
you’ve never been drunk
whoop
but you felt drunk now
whoop
where is the tower?
whoop
where did it go?
whoop
where are the lights?
whoop
here they come
the leaves shook down
as they swung through the trees towards you
they can’t touch me
they can’t touch me
as long as i can see it
and they descended
they brought you war
these fucking monkeys
in the dark
you were thrown to the ground
pinned to the ground
these pitch black beach boys
come to sing you a song
they found your weakness
found their way inside you
they took over
took you over
the darkness
took you over
for thirteen minutes
thats all it was
thirteen minutes
in the dark
and that dark
was yours forever now
whoop
and when it was over
you crept down fifth avenue
the same tough street
like one of the drunks
no joy at all
your feet dragging
mannequins in the windows
leered at you
blank faces
fur stoles
that would never get old
that would never shut up
the tower kept staring
it saw you everywhere
and back on the 58th floor
high above the park
you took off your jacket
this is shit now
after the darkness nothing could soothe you
the tower was empty and black and stupid
they’d ruined it for you
you wept that night, remember?
you shook
your whole body
as you stripped off your clothes and climbed into the bathtub
you wanted to disappear
but you had this piece of shit body dumb this piece of body that you always have to deal with body
you shook
and wanted all of Manhattan to shake with you
as long as you had a body
that body could be hurt
as long as you were a man
that man could be broken
you picked up the phone
“Fire all the black doormen. I don’t care how it looks. I don’t wanna see them anymore. By the time I come down in the morning. Polish fine, Italian just fine. Get rid of the blacks.”
no body
was going to hold you down
never again
IV. Despite my enthusiastic performance.
Despite my enthusiastic performance, Donald Trump wasn’t fazed at all.
I thought I was pretty convincing. Impassioned, argumentative, dramatic.
But it didn’t earn me a rise out of that fucker.
No weeping. No apology. No concession.
After I’d finished my speech, he just lay there, calmly on the floor of my living/bedroom. His big ass was pointed up in the air. His hands still strapped behind his back, his face against the wood. He was smirking.
He didn’t argue, didn’t put up a fight. I didn’t know what else to do.
“What was it?” I asked “What happened to you?”
He rolled his eyes.
“Why the fuck are you like this?” I asked.
He nodded his head. He seemed like he wanted to talk.
“No-“ I started…then realized that he was right. I’d had my turn. It was time for me to listen to him. It was all that was left.
“Okay,” I said, “you’re not gonna scream, right?”
He rolled his eyes.
“This is Flatbush,” I tried to joke with him, “Nobody would notice anyway.”
He nodded his head, as if to say, “come on, let’s hurry this up,” and I obeyed.
As I decided to pull the duct tape from his mouth, I felt like a scared little boy. My hands went limp. My testicles shriveled up inside my body. It reminded me of the first time I had to shower at summer camp. I wanted to run. I wanted to abandon all of my ideals and expectations of who I was supposed to be, leave Donald Trump in my apartment and escape from the whole situation I’d created. But I knew I had to finish what I’d started.
He didn’t speak at first. It seemed like he wanted to wait until I had freed his hands. He sat and kind of pouted while I was undoing the bungee cords. It was like he could have spoken — he was smacking his lips — but he wouldn’t let himself until he could use his hands. It made sense.
Once I had cut free his restraints, I saw that he was wearing a white t-shirt and pants. He had sweated through them. He reached up to fix his hair, and then combed the air, as if it were still there. Once he was arranged, he stood across from me, pulling his pants up over his belly, and spoke.
“I’m gonna tell you something, you little fart queen. And I’m gonna tell you something important before I get out of this pathetic little apartment. But first you’re gonna get me a towel.”
I stared at him defiantly.
“A towel,” he repeated.
And I just did it. My legs started moving before I could resist…as if they knew it was no use fighting him any longer. I brought him back one of my roommate’s towels.
“You wanna know? You wanna know why I’m like this?
“You know — you can say what you like about rats. But they have their run of the city.”
“Rats?”
“Rats. for centuries, we’ve tried to poison them, exterminate them, wipe them out. And the rats are like, ‘who cares?’ What? I can’t go to that corner anymore? What do I care? I’ve got 15,000 other corners I can go to. You kill one…there’s 1000 more where that one came from.”
“So someday when all of us are in heaven- or hell — I don’t know — if you were to burn New York City to the ground, and believe me, I love New York City — but if you were to burn this whole city to the ground, the rats would be here five minutes later to lick up your whole life like you were soft ice cream. And that’s pretty impressive. You have to respect that.”
“So you’re a rat?”
He smiled.
“Nope. I’m the king of the rats.”
“How long do you think my buildings are gonna last? I’ll tell you how long — For-ever. Forever. So you can do whatever you want to me. You can smack me around, punch me in the face, you could’ve shot me, if you had the balls. But it wouldn’t have mattered. Because this-“
He grabbed his belly and shook it.
“- this isn’t me.. All of this — “
He gestured towards the window, towards the world outside.
“That’s me. I’m everywhere. Everywhere the rats are.”
He straightened his tie and tucked it into his pants.
“Now I’m gonna get the hell out of here,” he wiped his head and his neck with the towel.
“And here’s what I’m gonna do for you right now.”
He threw the towel on the floor. Suddenly there was a man in my living room.
“I’m not gonna tell you what I’m gonna do. I’m not gonna tell you whether or not I’m gonna send the entire united states military after you. You’re gonna go about your business, eating tofu or wearing dresses or whatever you do- and you’re not gonna know whether I’m sending the entire United States army to come bust down your door or not. Or whether I’m gonna send just one man — and tell you the truth, I’ve been doing that for years — whether I’m just gonna send one guy to come pop you in the middle of the day…maybe you’re having a picnic with your boyfriend and all of a sudden there’s just a little pop- just a little pop that comes from behind a newspaper, and that’s it. I’m not gonna tell you what I’m gonna do. So just enjoy that.”
He headed towards the door, rubbing his hand over his skull.
“So good luck, little boy.”
As Donald Trump closed the door, I saw him smiling. And then he was gone.
