NOT A MATTER OF DECISION

Rag picker
picks at rags
at a basket,
Houston and 3rd;
an old time Bowery bum
bums his way
with a wire shopping cart
in the noonday swelter;
squeegee man
grime thicker then his skin weaves
through his maze of stopped
cars; summer came
a few months early as beds
like buds
begin to open: cheap lodging
translates to more wild Irish
and less worries.
new waves
of young drivers, their faces creaseless
and careless turn
their wipers on
squeegee man's play:
the old slapstick.
some give
what their hand falls on;
some praying
for the green light;
some laughing
as their bellys quiver
for the unknown
years. then there are some
who see their fathers,
their selves,
and grip the wheel
tighter, stare straight ahead,
and drive
to where they never
intended to go.

Norman Savage
Greenwich Village, 1977

SOME YEARS ARE BETTER THAN OTHERS

Last year
at this time
she
had my cock
in her mouth
while I
ate her delicious cunt.

Now
we hardly speak
even when
we infrequently meet
across the street at the saloon
she waitresses in.

When this occurred to me
I shielded the page...she coming
closer.


Norman Savage
Greenwich Village, 1978

JESUS SAVES

at which bank?

Norman Savage
Greenwich Village, 1978

ONE OF MY FEW LOVE POEMS

for Amy Short

When your beauty fades,
my lady,
stones will feel it; traffic-lights
will give out
double messages;
priests will kick in
stained-glass windows;
circumcisions
will knit---
but I’ll calmly tell ya
that you were always ugly
in the part
that matters
least.


Norman Savage
Greenwich Village, 1978

POEM

I sometimes stand
on street corners
missing my chance
to walk
lost
between lights
in thought of tail pipes
and fine,
rich,
women. two,
three hours
on a nice day--
walk--
don't walk, walk--
don't walk, walk--
I'm in a limo
with a tall
scotch and "what would you like to do tonight,
dear?"
"ah, let it unfold, let it unfold,"
(she loves me
for cute phrases like that).

Norman Savage
Greenwich Village, 1976

BATTLE PLAN

I plan
to be in the shower
when my apartment buzzer buzzes--
running out
with water
my only shield
laughing
as I explain
how I thought
she'd be later.

Norman Savage
Greenwich Village, 1976

THE CONSCIENTIOUS OBJECTOR

water breaks
inside of bellys that ache
from a labor
of love
lost eventually; inevitable
selfishness.

he leaned against her
gently,
trying not to show
frustration
in movement
he zippered
and quietly
left.

Norman Savage
Greenwich Village, 1974

POKER PLAYING MIAMI BEACH LADIES

Fat; slim
cigarette
holders
holding true
menthols beneath
frosted hair
have sons
who are
faggots
or alcoholics
or drug addicts
or gamblers
or are
just plain
mad
dreamers
from strong
sweatshop
money.


Norman Savage
Greenwich Village, 1979

THE WAY THE DEAD LOOK

He looked at me
the way dead men look
at worms.
I hit him
3 fast ones.
All he did was smile.
Jesus Christ, I said.
I walked on,
quickly.


Norman Savage
Greewich Village, 1974

THOSE THRILLING DAYS OF YESTERYEAR

Blew into a bar
2:30 a.m. with the night
tucked into my armpits;
my balls fisted
in two fifties.
Hey Bartender,
give all these suckers a round.
They twinkled, tinkled and slurped
through a yard
of dream juice.
I looked them square
in their eyes and said,
in my best Lone Ranger’s face,
Hey you bums, you love me?
YEAH, OH YEAH, WE LOVE YOU.
You do huh, well
yous can all go fuck yerselves now.

I never returned to that town
either.


Norman Savage
Greenwich Village, 1977

SCARED OF MONEY

I had just paid
my August rent
in September;
October
was already a step away
from beating on my door, lurking
like a natural progression.
My car
ran on some mechanical
loyalty like a fighter
coming out for the 12th
not knowing how or why...

no matter; 5
or 500---
it’s all piss
through the proverbial sieve
eventually getting to people
who only bank it.
tonight, my 5
will get me 4
Buds, the bartender, Frankie
will buy me 2;
I’ll leave him 1.
Somehow, it all
works out.

Norman Savage
Greenwich Village, 1978

A WEDNESDAY AFTERNOON'S EVENING

for Dutch


I like all of em,
big, small, fat, thin,
just so long
as they don’t talk
large,
and this one,
he said,
I don’t think nobody’s
ever winked her
ya know what I mean?
I know, I said, go on...
Anyways,
like I was sayin’
I liked what she ordered:
sherry, cream...
and made the bartender
put it in a sherry glass,
and this a hot Wednesday
afternoon, 40 cents,
she’s entitled,
right?
Right, right, what happened?
Nothin’, nothin happened, nothin’
else, I just liked that.

He always told those kind of stories;
if there was a point to them
you had to decide where
it was.


Norman Savage
Greenwich Village, 1978

RUTHIE

She had class,
Ruthie did---
from her black lace
underwear to the way
she laughed
at all my lies.
And although
I was 20 years
her junior
she kicked my ass
with pure heat.
Ruthie, come ta bed.
Nah, don’t feel like it,
let’s stay up...
Dracula’s on in an hour.
But shit, Ruthie,
I’m beat.
Your beat!?,
how the Hell should I feel?
But Ruthie, Ruthie
you women age slower:
no job, no rent, no stupidity...
I gotta be up at 5.
Fuck 5, she’d holler, we’ll laugh
at 5; at that hour,
at those wages,
there are plenty of jobs...
only idiots have loyalty
to people who have none.
...
Ruthie, you’re right,
fuck that...
you got some tuna?

We had almost an hour
to kill.

Norman Savage
Greenwich Village, 1974

NICE GIRL

not too pretty
or ugly
slightly overweight...
eats bagels
drinks diet pepsi...
plain
to the point
of madness;
does not know
how to lie.
after 20 odd years
has not given it up
to anyone.
her parents
are proud,
but slightly
embarrassed
by her
situation.


Norman Savage
Greenwich Village, 1977

GOD and ME

She was married
10 years to a guy
she never loved
(and 5 years before that
to an alcoholic
or something),
neither of them
deserved her, my friend
told me.
There’s no God,
he went on,
for someone like her
to be so good
and so unlucky;
she’s heard about you...
wants to meet you...
just don’t act like an asshole.
It’s no act, I said.
Anyway, women have a hard time
being with me for a full day...
let alone for 15
consecutive passes.
Don’t make fun,
he said, she isn’t one
of your ordinary whores.
I kept my mouth shut...
there was no point in debating
“ordinary” as opposed to “virtuous”
so we went.

In less than 2 weeks
it was all over;
she couldn’t stand it
if I closed the door
to the bathroom, let alone
what was left
of my mind; had trouble
with silences
of all sorts; chose
not to “share,” a calling of men
in this new age
of caring.

About a week later
I ran into my former friend;
He had given up
on me
and God.
For once
I was in
good company.


Norman Savage
Greenwich Village, 1976

WHAT IT IS TODAY

I can still afford
a night of scotch
and a few beers.
I get as much sleep
as possible
with
or without
a woman;
with
sometimes makes it easier
to sleep;
without
makes it easier
to get up.
Without
also increases
longevity,
saves nerves.
I'm not really saying anything
new.

Norman Savage
Greenwich Village, 1975

HER BACK IS TO ME AND I CAN'T QUITE FIGURE OUT HER NAME

She’s at the juke box.
I’d like to be behind her,
put my two hands gently
on her hips
and press
my cock
into the crack
of her skin tight jeans
feeling the sweat
the grind,
slow,
slow, so
slow
the jump
pulse
the sticky
circum
stance
for the 2 play
quarter.


Norman Savage
Greenwich Village, 1979

A HAND-ME-DOWN

I know a woman
who’s very nice.
She has an ample amount
of everything.
She has also fucked
Bob Dylan
three (3) times.
Which means,
in a way,
so have I.

I wonder if my grandchildren
would be interested?

Norman Savage
Greenwich Village, 1975

CAPTAIN VIDEO

is dead.
He died
not far from me
in a cheap, transient
Lexington Ave.,
soon to be torn down
hotel
that the $2.00,
truck drivin, acne faced,
need to feel somethin
people
give
to the not too pretty,
no good connections,
street action lovers,
jacked-up,
diseased hallway,
fake leather,
mouse droppings,
blow-job missing
piece of the puzzle
hooker
contracts
to.

I wonder how
Ed Norton feels?

Norman Savage
Greenwich Village, 1977

IT HAPPENED THAT WAY

today
a good friend
told me
that he
had broken-
up
with his ol lady.

who cares?

it sounded
like a death
had happened.

Norman Savage
Greenwich Village, 1975

IF YOU ONLY BET ON CHALK HORSES DON'T EVER EXPECT TO MAKE ANY MONEY

my one plant
is ugly.
and dying.
I don't know
what kind of plant
it is; I do know
it's dying; you can feel
those things.
I must admit
I haven't done much
to prevent it: no water
for days; made it stay
in my coldest window
in the dead
of winter & likewise
my hottest
in summer. I figured
I'd test it
much the same way
I've been tested.
I'm not crazy
about most things
that require attention.
I mean, when I die
nobody will say
that it wasn't
my fault. instead,
they'll say
now careless and foolish
and self-destructive I was
and that I didn't care
about anybody else so
big deal he's dead...
I couldn't agree
more.

Norman Savage
Greenwich Village, 1975

HOOPS--3 AND HALF POINTS

My sweat stutter steps
with time ticking 2:47, 2:46,
2:45 remaining fourth quarter
time out, Celtics. Knicks
down by 6. WE WOULD LIKE TO REMIND YOU
THAT THE ICE CAPADES
WILL BE COMING TO THE GARDEN ON
(shove it up your ass,
play already, I was never one to win
or lose, slowly). AND ON DECEMBER 7TH,
THE NATIONAL HORSE, (Jesus Christ),
SHOW, and all around me
I could see
early exits. Fine suits, and finer women,
as bored with basketball as they are embarrassed
by underarm stains, clinging
to cigar chompers who somehow had comps
that night; even though The Knicks
were losers 1975. Seeing
or being seen in The Garden was no big deal back then;
not very impressive to big accounts,
just, like wives, a tax-deduction...or favor...or both.
Me, I loved them
but bet against them. I mean, shit,
3 and half points, a New York sucker line:
this was Boston 1975, New York 1975;
no Reed, no deB, Frazier playing
like he was caught stealing, Bradley
back to the books, Gianelli looking like a pimp
from Debuke, just The Pearl
was, well... The Pearl; all in all
not nearly enough
for just love.

Celtics inbound, cross
mid court, working the clock, (how many of us have been able
to use time like that?) a shot, a miss,
rebound Knicks, 2:21
quick up court pass
Frazier, Monroe back
to Frazier baseline good.
Boston by 4 (less the 3 and a half leave a half) shit
don’t slow, play
your game, run, now’s no time to forget
who you are. Depleted audience
filling The Garden like 19,500
shouting methedrine as I feel
sleep coming on as Scott gets trapped,
panics, throwing the ball to someone
who isn’t there. Momentum shifts;
Knicks look like 1970, take there time
set up, 1:23, Monroe working one-on-one (trouble
for me) twist, twist, fake crippled knees
spastic garbage magic 2 points
:59 seconds time-out
Boston. Plenty of time
Heinsohn tells em, be cool
but careful, work for a good one---
problem: Holzman’s sayin’ the same thing.
And with two teams working
for the same thing
I’m paralyzed, being choked
by simple arithmetic---
down 1 and a half points, :59 seconds it’s almost
train time. The only thing keeping me
is the hope that give men erections
in the desert; or the last woman
4 a.m. bar time as I pour her a free one;
so I’m still there
with 100 ways to pull this out
up here surrounded by maniacs who only leave the arena
when the competition is over.

Jojo at the key, pulls up,
flicks his wrist, shoots, rims
the basket, a ton of muscle
straining for a ball,
it’s Silas, thank God, (He must of bet Boston),
back out, :24, :23, :22
Knicks going mad for the ball,
Scott, White, back to Scott, :17,
:16, :15, Scott rainbow shot
slash & a foul I smile.
Scott converts 3rd. point as The Garden
empties like the hoop after the ball goes through:
air & twine.
I stay around, hell, there’s still :11 ticks.
Ball in bounded, up to Pearl (no, no) quick
to Bradley, (No,No) behind double screen (NO!)
too much rim & SILAS again like God
when he does the right thing,
is there. I get up,
fingering my pocket;
wanting to remember thin
to fantasize fat
by 1 and half points and a yard;
1 and half fucking points, I mutter.
It’s getting really tough
to make a buck.


Norman Savage
Greenwich Village, 1975

DON'T BOTHER

they do not bother
except to bother
and then wonder
why I don't bother
except to bother
and it bothers
all of us.

Norman Savage
Coney Island, 1971

SPRING (CENTRAL PARK)

Rican congas
thumping rhythmically
through thick reefer smoke
fills my head
with a time
that was
and soon
will be.

Norman Savage
New York City, 1973

SQUISH

the squish
of fever climaxed
are poems
between stomachs
sweating.

Norman Savage
New York City, 1973

FOXY

I was smoking
a cigarette waiting
for a steady thing:
a job, a woman, immortality.
I settled on
finishing the cigarette
and clocking the hot
pre-summer New York
action. a young
grandmother walked by
wearing a yellow t-shirt
with the word “foxy”
written in red above
her left flabby tit.
she wasn’t wearing a bra
or much of anything. it was
hot. she stopped and carefully
lifted a Pall Mall
from her case and slowly
lit it as she looked
at me. she looked good
and knew it. I figured
she was a scotch drinker
and probably very smooth
at whatever she wanted
to do. I began to laugh
at my thoughts
‘til I remembered
30 years ago
when she would walk
into a room,
any room,
and everyone
took her
seriously.

Norman Savage
Greenwich Village, 1978

OUTSIDE

anxiety shoots
from stiffened flesh
and, for the first time,
this day, I'm somewhere
where I'm not.

Norman Savage
New York City, 1973

JUST THE NECESSARY WORDS

somebody stole a book for ya in the night,
that's all; that's all ya should tell em.
pretty romantic ya could make it---
if ya think about it;
even desperate.

Norman Savage
Coney Island, 1971

BREAK-NECK SPEED

I've always run
into the first pair
of outstretched arms
and found them lacking
a body behind them.

Norman Savage
New York City, 1972

YEATS AS PISCICULTURALIST

Autumn falls upon
wintered souls heated
from deceptive springs' child
summer. Aprils fool
is us;
in October, almost able
to see an end it is hard
to sense a beginning--though it frolics
on our soon numbed fingertips.

Liquid dreams,
seasonless wants
left aching in steel sun rays
breaking mirrors and nights warm
wetness. a woman
who's body torments me,
who's face eludes me, yet
I anxiously lower the lid
on something I wish to control,
but can't.
my second self
oozing
and fused
into tonights workshop.

I see fishermen
in dried-out streams
up to their thighs
in illusions
of being where the fish is
but isn't. they have not moved,
waiting for the fish' return,
refusing to believe that water
must preceed them.
my page is as naked
as a single word
and as painful
as a warm image
fading.
how we slide
into safetys structured pretense.
what's outside those black plaster-board walls?
(I don't care.
it's not safe.)
byzantium's daydream, inside
the razor resting bubble,
is somehow less real that still waters'
circles. we bathe in the scented oil
of fantasy in times cruel seconds hanging
on the edge of hourly panics.

Poor W.B.
looking at his limp ego
and jumping
into a one-paddle canoe
that had nothing cept leaks.
good poetry
does not make
a good woman,
eh?

Norman Savage
New York City, 1972

NO SHIT

Bullshit!
the man said.
Me, I couldn't care
from which asshole it came--
it was shit,
pure and simple.
Naturally,
he was more browned-off
than I was--
it was him
that it fell upon.

Norman Savage
Coney Island, 1971

A HUNCHBACK IN DISGUISE?

(bent) back hump
shadow looms lost
among natural things. trapped
in mosaic and stained
glass answers the following
question: can god be
a deformity?
the answer,
on the screen, in black and white
clearly tells us
that we may
be looking
in the wrong
places.

Norman Savage
Coney Island, 1971