For Display Purposes Only. David Seymour

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СКАЧАТЬ bus is still waiting

       at a stop, and while the bus driver may be inclined to do that,

       we will very likely miss our connection to bus 12,

       unless we get off now and get a cab.

      Jonathan, stop it right now. You have to stop

       obsessing about these things beyond your control.

      Yes, I know, but it’s very difficult for me to stop

       once I’ve begun thinking about how we need

       to get to the connection for bus 12. I know

       I’ll stop when … perhaps the bus only appears to be

       going more slowly than it once was, though in fact

       it’s travelling at exactly the speed it needs to be travelling.

      Jonathan, the more you say it’s difficult for you

       to stop thinking about something, the more difficult

       it becomes for you to stop thinking about it.

      But we have to connect with the 12 at 4:00 p.m,

       and it’s 4:00 p.m. now, and he’s been idling here

       at a minor stop for an inordinate amount of time.

       In all likelihood the bus driver has stopped here

       at this minor stop rather than the main stop up ahead.

       Perhaps he’s stopped here to wait rather than the next stop.

       You don’t think he’ll stop up ahead to wait again, do you?

       We’ve been waiting at this stop for quite a long time now.

       Excuse me. Excuse me, bus driver.

      Jonathan! Stop that immediately. You are not going to start

       questioning the bus driver about his decisions and the job

       he’s doing. It embarrasses me and insults him.

      But I just want to discover why he’s waiting

       at this minor stop. For all of the waiting we’ve done

       we could have been downtown by now, and we

       wouldn’t have missed our connection with bus 12.

      He’s doing everything he does for a reason, and it is not

       necessarily all related to our needs specifically. Do you think

       you know his job better than he does?

      Well, I don’t know …

      Have you ever driven a bus before?

       Do you think you could do a better job?

      I don’t know. I mean, did you get a look at him?

      First, myself. Then her, for it will always end with her, no matter how I may deviate in the telling. Where better to begin than the ergo sum, that essential component of so simple yet decisive a formula. For you see, in order to clarify the sordid, cloudy motives of my actions you must understand the me-ness of them. Le moi. The my. The mind. Did I say mind? I meant mine. I could not have accomplished what I did had there been any considerate ratiocination of consequence on my part. Certainly there has since arisen, in late wakeful hours, the borborygmic stir of anxiety about the choices I’ve made, but let us not mistake these flatulent rumblings for a soul. In me, I fear, there is no moral centre, but processes, and the work of the natural chemicals on their thoughtless, secretive course through the bloodstream. So I will dispense with self-pity, and seek no sympathy either, but merely expect from you a dim comprehension of the indifferent facts to follow. How else can one acknowledge death except to prepare for it by translating the details? And yes, my vanity will strive to appall the perverts with these proceeds, but as is often the case one succeeds only in titillating the puritans for the effort. We hadn’t made love in months, she and I. Though that is neither

       A Modest Sum

1

      Several Takes

      Being negatively capable,

      can I rightly consider myself

      a perishable non-food item or novel

      element in this repetitive

      environment? While exploring northern

      forests, or vacationing along

      the Atlantic seaboard? Then, I am

      also a featherless biped, prone

      to realizing I’ll never play the Dane,

      nor ever again sing ‘By the Rivers

      of Babylon’ in my boyhood kitchen. Also,

      when I say ‘I’, I could be referring

      to someone else entirely, having mistaken

      him for me, as seen from a deceptive angle

      or too great a distance. His past is

      a composite of anecdotes rigged

      with discarded set dec. Crossing

      a room’s threshold, he’ll forget his purpose

      and cling to an ideal version. He wears

      a louche smirk as if he’s watching

      a film in which he plays no role. You know,

      of course, when I say ‘he’ who I mean.

      His shadow precedes him, describing

      the directions he may take in a voice

      quieter than the wind not blowing

      and no one stepping across fresh snow.

      Even

      Stefan springs forth without remainder. After work

       he hits the Classy Chassis. Everyone looks vaguely familiar.

      And the food’s better than, which is the enemy of antecedent

       good. He slots a quarter and the automated fortune teller

      relates intrinsic truths:

      Ha ha ha, it talks! Ha ha ha. Drowning

      the gallantry of well-spoken women who prognosticate

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