Conversation...

Conversation waiting for the Train

1.
It pisses me off when he pretends
     to sleep like that –
     his eyelids flutter and that's how I know he's faking.

Maybe I will live in Battery Park…
     Dirty grey water slapping against the wall –
Why a wall?
     That way no hypodermic sand.
     Ha ha.
     Mmm.
The statue's nice, too, when you can see it.
I like the trees best, and the
     grass.

The bums are interesting –
     is he someone's grandfather?
Is that tattered satin Broadway jacket his,
     or did some drunk stagehand
     give it him in a fit of
     kindness?

          (kind stagehand in a fit of drunkenness?)

He's hiding from reality you know, when he does
     that.
And he says I'm immature?
Make it in theatre without contacts – hah!
     You can't make it anywhere these days
     without contacts!

Look at that sparrow, hopping on the tracks.
     Did you know sparrows came over on boats with the English….

They look funny when they hop,
     two legs hopping –

          Bip – Bip – Bip

               Peck, Peck

          Bip – Bip
Then fly away.

2.
It pisses me off when he pretends
     to sleep like that –
     his eyelids flutter and that's how I know he's faking.

Maybe I will live in Battery Park…
     Dirty grey water slapping against the wall,
     full of candy wrappers, popcorn buckets,
     greasy, ketchupy hot dog napkins –

Why a wall?

That way no hypodermic sand.
Hah ha.
Mmm.
The Statue's nice, too, when you can see it.
      I've never been. (I've taken the ferry though.)
I'd like to see it now that they've fixed the torch,
     up close, you know.
I like the trees and the grass best.

Once, we stood by a souvenir stand in Battery Park
     and caught the rain in our soda cups.
He laughed and said we should send some home to Texas.
     Then he dumped it out.

The bums are interesting – I always wonder
     if he's someone's grandfather.
See that tattered jacket – could it be his?
     Or did some drunk stagehand give it to him
     in a fit of kindness?

          (kind stagehand in a fit of
          drunkenness?)

Aaah, the never-ending plight of the out-of-work actor!

He's hiding from reality when he does that,
     you know.
And he says I'm immature?
He can't even argue with me –
                                         just at me!
Make it in theatre without contacts –
                                         hah!
                    You can't make it anywhere
                              these days without
                                   Contacts.
He'll be a dead artist before he's a famous one –
     And then only if he's lucky.

     He's good though.

Look at that sparrow, hopping on the train tracks –
    Did you know sparrows came over on boats
    with the English?

          English sparrows…

They look funny when they hop,
     two legs hopping

          Bip – Bip – Bip
               Peck, Peck
          Bip – Bip
Have you ever seen them roll in the dust?
     They make this little burrow thing,
          almost like a nest,
     Then fly away…

The train's late again.
It always is.
     I wish they'd finish working on the station.
They've been at it forever.


I wonder what he's doing tonight.
     Maybe I'll call him.
     No. I won't call him tonight.
     He probably expects me to.


Look, finally, there's the train.
It always just materializes –
     Around the curve with the trees overhanging it,
     and that far away it always looks misty.
The haze.
The headlights just get brighter and brighter until the whole train
     appears.

He just makes me so goddamned mad.

But when he kisses me I forget.
     We make love and it's all
     better.
For some reason all I can ever remember is the
     all better.
I guess I better forget.

Yah, sure, I'm coming…

Still…

3.
Once before I sat in rain,
          waiting for you – but
     you were with me then.
               Shadows of light and rain
               dripping down my shirt –
               a molasses image from a
                    sixties film
               which you would appreciate,
          that foregone symbol of a crying heart.
But I was crying then,
          not now.
We seem at last to have come full circle.

And so we set forth,
     hypothetically hand in hand.

That summer afternoon in Battery Park
     catching rain in battered old cups,
          I was more unsure
          but not one bit less
          scared.
Now, I'm not afraid of losing you,
     I'm afraid of finding us.

Funny –
     the parallels that appear between
          then
               and now.

Then
     we watched the storm curl in,
           wrap around the Statue of Liberty,
     and drench us in a mad dash for the
          hot dog stand –
     raincups full,
     scared and lonely,
And I thought only of you.

Tonight
     I sat by the water
          ignored the train's lure
     watching the storm blow in,
     and thought,
     not of you,
          but of the storm –

And I was caught in a sudden squall.