The Last Night of the Earth Poems Read Free

other people crowded in the seats, near and far, give me
    feelings that I dislike; it’s stupid, maybe, but there it
    is; and then
    there’s the darkness and then the
    giant human faces, bodies, that move about on the screen, they
    speak and we
    listen.
 
    of one hundred movies there’s one that’s fair, one that’s good
    and ninety eight that are very bad.
    most movies start badly and steadily get
    worse;
    if you can believe the actions and speech of the
    characters
    you might even believe that the popcorn you chew also
    has a meaning of
    sorts.
    (well, it might be that people see so many movies
    that when they finally see one not
    so bad as the others, they think it’s
    great. an Academy Award means that you don’t stink
    quite as much as your cousin.)
 
    the movie ends and we are out in the street, moving
    toward the car; “well,” says my wife, “it wasn’t as
    good as they say.”
    “no,” I say, “it wasn’t.”
 
    “there were a few good parts, though,” she replies.
    “yeah,” I answer.
    we are at the car, get in, then I am driving us out
    of that part of town; we look around at the night;
    the night looks good.
 
    “you hungry?” she asks.
 
    “yes. you?”
 
    we stop at a signal; I watch the red light;
    I could eat that red light—anything, anything at
    all to fill the void; millions of dollars spent to create
    something more terrible than the actual lives of
    most living things; one should never have to pay an
    admission to hell.
 
    the light changes and we escape,
    forward.

be kind
     
     
    we are always asked
    to understand the other person’s
    viewpoint
    no matter how
    out-dated
    foolish or
    obnoxious.
 
    one is asked
    to view
    their total error
    their life-waste
    with
    kindliness,
    especially if they are
    aged.
 
    but age is the total of
    our doing.
    they have aged
    badly
    because they have
    lived
    out of focus,
    they have refused to
    see.
 
    not their fault?
 
    whose fault?
    mine?
 
    I am asked to hide
    my viewpoint
    from them
    for fear of their
    fear.
 
    age is no crime
 
    but the shame
    of a deliberately
    wasted
    life
 
    among so many
    deliberately
    wasted
    lives
 
    is.

the man with the beautiful eyes
     
     
    when we were kids
    there was a strange house
    all the shades were
    always
    drawn
    and we never heard voices
    in there
    and the yard was full of
    bamboo
    and we liked to play in
    the bamboo
    pretend we were
    Tarzan
    (although there was no
    Jane).
    and there was a
    fish pond
    a large one
    full of the
    fattest goldfish
    you ever saw
    and they were
    tame.
    they came to the
    surface of the water
    and took pieces of
    bread
    from our hands.
 
    our parents had
    told us:
    “never go near that
    house.”
    so, of course,
    we went.
    we wondered if anybody
    lived there.
    weeks went by and we
    never saw
    anybody.
 
    then one day
    we heard
    a voice
    from the house
    “YOU GOD DAMNED
    WHORE!”
 
    it was a man’s
    voice.
 
    then the screen
    door
    of the house was
    flung open
    and the man
    walked
    out.
 
    he was holding a
    fifth of whiskey
    in his right
    hand.
    he was about
    30.
    he had a cigar
    in his
    mouth,
    needed a
    shave.
    his hair was
    wild and
    uncombed
    and he was
    barefoot
    in undershirt
    and pants.
    but his eyes
    were
    bright.
    they blazed
    with
    brightness
    and he said,
    “hey, little
    gentlemen,
    having a good
    time, I
    hope?”
 
    then he gave a
    little laugh
    and walked
    back into the
    house.
 
    we left,
    went back to my
    parents’ yard
    and thought
    about it.
 
    our parents,
    we decided,
    had wanted us
    to stay away
    from there
    because they
    never wanted us
    to see a man
    like
    that,
    a strong natural
    man
    with
    beautiful
    eyes.
 
    our parents
    were ashamed
    that they were
    not
    like that
    man,
    that’s why they
    wanted us
    to stay
    away.
 
    but
    we went back
    to that house
    and the bamboo
    and the tame
    goldfish.
    we went back
    many times
    for many
    weeks
    but we never
    saw
    or heard
    the man
    again.
 
    the shades were
    down
    as always
    and it