New Mexico

 I was fairly drunk when it
began and I took out my bottle and used it
along the way.
 I was reading a week or two after
Kandel and I did not look quite as
pretty but
I brought it off and we
ended up at the Webbs, 6, 8, 10 of
us, and I drank scotch, wine, beer, tequila
and noticed a nice one sitting next to me -
one tooth missing when she smiled,
lovely, and I put my arm around her
and began loading her with bullshit.

when I awakened at 10 a.
m.
 the next morning
I was in a strange house
in bed with this
woman.
 she was asleep but looked
familiar.

I got up and here was one kid running around in a
crib and another one running around the floor in
pajamas.
 I picked up a letter addressed to one
"Betsy R.
", so I went back and said,
"hey, Betsy, there are kids running around all over
this place.
"
"oh Hank, damn it, I'm sick.
 I want to sleep, not
rap.
"
"but look, the .
.
.
"
"make yourself some
coffee.
"
I put the pot on and the little boy ran up in his
pajamas.
 I found a shirt and some pants and some
shoes and
dressed him.

then I cleaned a bottle with hot water, filled it
with milk and gave it to the kid in the
crib.
 he went for
it.

then I went in and squeezed her
hand.
 "I've got to go.
 are you all
right ?"
"yes, a little sick.
 but please don't feel
bad.
"
I called a yellow cab and we went back across
town.

is this what happened to
D.
 Thomas ? I thought.

if a man didn't think too much he could be proud of his little
conquests -
except that the women were better than we - asking nothing
as we squirted our poetry
our bullshit our
sperm to
them.

we were sick poets sick
people.

across town I knocked on the door of my host and
hostess.

"what happened ?" they
asked.

"nothing.
 got
lost.
"
they sat a beer in front of me
and I drank it as if I were
wordly:
a piece-of-ass
any-night
anywhere
type.

"somebody got a
cigarette ?" I asked.

"sure, sure.
"
I lit up and asked,
"heard from Creely
lately ?"
not giving a damn whether they had or
not.

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