where I was dull as gruel
and patterned as gray plaid
three envelopes plopped
from my mailbox:
Money Mailer
NYU
NY Quarterly
I saved two coupons
for cheap sedans
to Newark Airport
I tossed down
NYU paycheck
wrapped in green tile pattern
like a busroom floor
symbol of my worth
to their Revenue Div.
It plopped like
a mucous-stiff
handkerchief
on my mattress
I tore return
address end
printed NYQ
paper tan & smooth
White paper slipped out
photo fell in my lap
of Bill Packard seated
bedside at St. Vincent’s
right leg pale
as a late-night nurse
reflecting fluorescent light
Left leg swelled
like thick neck
of a pissed drunk mick
skin stretched so tight
it could split from a flinch
with steel rod screwed
into bone
beneath the knee
rod latched to rod
circling the leg
like a pod
ready for launch into orbit
I unfolded white paper
to find loved copy
of Bill’s last note from Bukowski:
eight lines of clean type
a three-letter signature
“Buk”
(its capital B like
a Roger Price droodle
of a whip resting on two breasts)
beside the trademark pen and ink
of tired old Santa’s face
or a little boy walking in sleep
Roger Armbrust
March 1994
