Alan Catlin- Three Poems

 The Vampire

 "There was this guy that

 hung out in school who always

 dressed up like Bela Lugosi.

 You know: complete vampire deluxe

 attire including white face and

 cape.  Rumor had it, he slept

 in a coffin and went to class

 always dressed in black.

 Someone told me, they saw him

 drink a glass of blood but I

 thought that was a bit extreme

 even for Ithaca.  He was weird

 though, no doubting that.

 No matter how late you staggered

 back toward the dorm you might

 sort of see him tinkering with

 the hearse, of course, he had

 a hearse with wall to wall carpeting

 and quadraphonic sound.

 God only knows where he got it all

 because it was like new.

 I guess his people had money,

 old money, if you know what I mean.

 Let me tell you that was one campus

 that didn't look forward to Halloween."

 Talking Them Off the Ledge

 "You don't know what it's like

 to be an RA.  Last year, I talked

 three people off the ledge.

 That's a hell of a way to wake up

 at three in the morning watching

 this chick strung out on God knows what

 walking the line outside a fifth floor

 window.  I got her in but it wasn't easy.

 Her side of the room was empty inside of

 twelve hours.  No one, I mean absolutely

 no one knows what happened to her.

 The most surprising one was these

 three roommates who were like tight

 getting gassed together and two of them

 turn real ugly and start to beat the shit

 out of the other one.  What a bloody mess!

 Much screaming and yelling.

 I wondered what she did, like blow

 both girl's boyfriends or something.

 Whatever it was, they were like heavily

 into serious shit like tossing her out

 the window.  That turned out to be

 another disappearing act.

 The third one was into pills and

 liquor but mostly pills.  Her roommate

 got me up with one of those:"Sheila's,

 been locked in the bathroom for hours

 with a six pack of razor blades."

 Luckily they were mostly superficial.

 I hear she's in stir some place heavy.

 My mother's a real riot, says you got it

 nice and easy not having to pay room

 and board for two years and you get

 a stipend on top of that just to

 babysit a bunch of college kids."

 A Discontinued Line

 They discontinued her model in a fit

 of rationality somewhere in the early seventies.

 The reasoning had something to do with

 bad genes warped on acid and too much

 contaminated free love.  I was tempted

 to check her out for antique plates but

 it wasn't necessary; the outfit she was

 wearing was so out of date and willfully

 deliberate.  She was into giving the old man

 she was with a history lesson, the object

 of which was an unsecured loan of two bills

 she owed this guy,

"Vince, you remember him, the mental patient."

But it would be awhile before she got to that.

 "I'm going to have it removed." She began.

 "It's going to hurt, tattoos are permanent."

 "I don't care, it's not me anymore."

 "What is it of?"

 "A butterfly but it's on my right tit.

 When I got it, I thought it was cute.

 I should have known.  It was my ex's idea."

 "You could be disfigured."

 "I already am, give me a break."

 I thought Burger King was getting to be

 a greater bargain every day: an in flight

 ten buck mall movie, plus a meal all for

 just a couple of bucks. 

 It was my kind of movie too.

 I get off looking at washed out, ditzy

 red heads and hearing an inspired,

 crazed story of a lifetime abusing

 everything she touched.

 "I'm living with William now but I'm still

 seeing Vince."

 "Why is that?"

 "Vince is kind of different, he gets under

 your skin and stays there.  We were having sex

 once and this stuff, God it was awful, came off

 his ass in my hands.  I almost puked."

 "What was it."

 "I guess it was skin, I don't know but

 it sure was disgusting."

 "Why do you do these things to yourself?"

 "It's for William," she says, almost meaning it,

 "Vince is going to kill him if we don't come

  up with the money." We both believe her.