Mercy

all hippie, endlessly expressing herself and putting little pats

on m y hand, teeny weeny little pats, her hand to mine:

expressing affection for another woman; heavy shit. I can

barely believe this one’s rubbing her hands on me. And the

guy starts fucking, and he’s some kind o f monster o f fuck, he

lasts forever and a day, it’s night, it’s dark, and hours go by,

and I see the light coming up, and she and me are next to each

other, and he’s in me, then he’s in her, then me, then her, and

m y side is splitting open and I’m not supposed to be m oving

around with the clot but you can’t keep your hips still the

whole time although my interest comes and goes, at some

point the boy takes o ff the shirt and I’m wondering who he is

and w hy he’s here, and I don’t have to w orry about her

sentimentality because the boy isn’t seeking variety and he

don’t want to watch, this is a boy who wants to fuck and he

moves good but he’s boring as hell, the same, the same, and

when the pain hits me I am pretty sure I am really going to die,

that the clot is loose in my blood somewhere and it’s going to

go to m y brain, and I’m trying to think this is real glorious,

dying with some Olympian fuck, but the pain is some vicious,

choked up tangle o f blades in my gut, and I try to

choreograph the pain to his fuck, and I try to rest when he’s

not in me, and I am praying he will stop, and I am at the same

time trying to savor every second o f m y last minutes on earth,

or last hours as it turns out, but intellectual honesty forced me

to acknowledge I was bored, I was spending m y last time

bored to death, I could have been a housewife after all; and the

light comes up and I think, well, dawn will surely stop him;

but he fucks well into daylight, it’s bright morning now with a

disagreeably bright sun, profoundly intrusive, and suddenly

there’s a spasm, thank the Lord, and the boy is spent, it’s the

seventh day and this man who fucks must rest. And I thank

God. I do. I say, thank you, Lord. I say, I owe Y ou one. I say, I

appear still to be alive, I know I was doing something

proscribed and maybe I shouldn’t address Y ou before he even

moves o ff me but I am grateful to Y ou for stopping him, for

making him tired, for wearing him out, for creating him in

Y our image so that, eventually, he had to rest. I can’t move

because m y insides are messed up. M y incision is burning as if

there are lighted coals there and I’m afraid to see i f it is open or

i f it will bleed now and m y shoulder has stones crushed into it

as i f some demolition team was crushing granite, reflexive

pain from some dead spot, I don’t know where, and I truly

think I might not ever move again and I truly think I might

have opened up and I truly think I might still die; and I want to

be alone; die alone or bleed alone or endure the pain alone; and

I’m lying there thinking they will go now when the girl starts

pawing me and says stupid, nice things and starts being all

lovey dovey like w e ’re both Gidget and she wants now to have

the experience, if you will, o f making love with a wom an; this

is in the too-little-too-late category at best; and I am fairly

outraged and astonished because I hurt so much and m y little

sister in sensitivity thinks we should start dating. So I tell them

to go; and she says but he doesn’t like me better, m aybe he

needs you to be there— needs you, can you imagine— and I’m

trying to figure out what it has to do with him, w hy it’s what

he wants when I want them to go; it’s what I want; I never

understand w h y it’s always with these girls what he wants— i f

he’s there and even if he ain’t in sight or in the vicinity; he had

his hours doing what he wants; and she tells me she’s

disappointed with me for not being loving and we could all

share and this is some dream come true, the most amazing

thing that’s ever happened, to her or ever on earth, it’s the

pro o f that everything is possible, and the pain I’m in is keeping

me from m oving because I can’t even sit up but I’m saying

very quiet, get out now. And she’s saying it’s her first time

with a woman and she didn’t really get to do anything—

tourist didn’t get to see the Eiffel T ow er— and I say yes, that’s

right, you didn’t get nothing. So she’s sad like some lover who

was real left her and she’s handling me like she read in some

book, being a tender person, saying everything bland and

stupid, all her ideals about life, everything she’s hoped for, and

she’s preachy with the m orality o f sharing and unity and

harm ony and I expect her to shake her finger at me and hit m y

knuckles with a ruler and make me stand in a corner for not

being some loving bitch. T here’s a code o f love you have to

learn by heart, which I never took to, and I’m thinking that if

she don’t take her treacle to another planet I’m going to stand

up, no matter what the pain, and physically carry her out, a

new little bride, over the threshold to outside. She’s some

sobbing ingenue with a delicate smile perpetually on her face

shining through tears which are probably always with her and

she’s talking about universal love when all the boy did was

fuck us to death as best he could, which in m y case was close

but no cigar and I couldn’t bring m yself to think it was all that

friendly; and I had a short fuse because I needed another pill, I

was a few behind and I was looking forward to making them

up now in the immediate present, I could talk real nice to

Demerol and I didn’t want them there for when I got high

again; so I said, you go, because he really likes you and you

should stay with him and be with him and be good to him, so

the dumb bitch leaves with the prince o f peace over there, the

b o y’s already smoking dope so he’s already on another plane

taking care o f him self which is what he’s really good at; and

she’s uncomprehending and she’s mournful that I couldn’t get

the love part right but they went, I saw the b o y’s turquoise and

purple silk shirt float by me and the drippy, sentimental girl in

cotton floated out still soliciting love. I never understood w hy

she thought you could ask for it. N o one can ask it from me. I

never can remember his face; peculiar, since his head was right

above me for so long, his tongue in my mouth, he kissed the

whole time he fucked, a nice touch, he was in her kissing me or

in me kissing her so no one’d get away from him or decide to

do something else; I just can’t remember his face, as if I never

saw it. He was a Taurus. I stayed away from them after that if I