The Setup

the man’s sitting on the steps
of my apartment

drunk and stupid,
frightening in all his
smallness

“is my girl inside your
place?” he asks.

yeah, I answer, she’s taking a
shower.

“she’ll be awhile,”
he says, while I
sit down
next to him, hand him
a Miller light.

“you know,” he sighs,
“ she spends more time
getting ready
for her shower
than
she spends inside it.”

I look at him—
the man is beyond
beat,
dejected;
it’s over for him,
he senses as much
without knowing it.

“man,” he smirks, “I’m sorry
about the blow
to the groin;
it was cheap, I know,
but
I had to get you back
for
what you did
to my head.”

forget it, I say,
besides
you fight
more like a girl
than I do.

“you know, man,
she’s the first
one
I’ve ever hit.

“it’s just that
she drives me
so damn crazy
with all her lies
and bullshit, you’ll see
soon enough.”

I say nothing.

after awhile
the man starts to squirm,
his body
slithering
back and forth
until he looks at me
sideways, says:

“man, just gimme’ five
minutes
with her.

“come on, man, just
five minutes, that’s all
I’m asking.”

you’ve already
had enough
time, I say.

and anyway
she doesn’t have
anything more
to say
to you,
I tell him.

his head sinks
into his knees.

“man, you don’t realize....
she’s gonna send me
to jail.”

I remind him
you shouldn’t have
beat her,
or broken my windows
for that matter.

way I see it, I say,
you sent yourself
to jail.

“I’m a wanted man,”
he cries,
“ Christ
I can’t even sleep
in my own bed.”

the man begins to weep,
and although
usually
my heart leaps
for the lost,
this time I reason
pity—not unlike poetry—
has yet to answer
any of our prayers.

no one has pressed
charges,
I remind him anyhow,
and no one wants
to see you
go
to jail.

he stops sobbing for a moment
as he looks me over.

starts all over again.

I’ll tell you what I’ll do,
I say,
you go over to your place
and I’ll send
her over, okay?

yeah?

yeah, but
you only get
five minutes,
and if I hear
one more scream, that’s it,
curtains....

the man stands,
my beer in his
left hand;
“ thank you, man,
thank you,”
he says
while shaking mine
with his right.

I watch him for a second
before
walking back inside
my apartment,
where the girl
is wet
in more than one way.

I pick up the phone, dial
9-1-1.

I caress her, then,
while
I hear the cop
cars
approach:

sirens in the distance,
ringing out the old,
ringing in
the new....

his time
was up,
and at the same time,
just beginning.