The Wild Lament Of Their Broken Mouths #1 Poem by Charles Chaim Wax

As soon as I trudged into the Teacher’s Center
Milton Pell said, “Bernstein, you’ll never be a great writer
until you delve into the mysteries of the track.
And booze! never forget booze! ”
Ever since Milton received a personal letter of encouragement
from the legendary writer Charles Bukowski
he had tried to emulate the Buk’s lifestyle.
Sadly, Milton Pell was no Bukowski
So when his girlfriend, Mona discarded him
Milton tumbled headlong into a nervous breakdown.
That was how his eating a box of chalk
in front of his class was interpreted.
Milton claimed the calcium carbonate
cured his constant heartburn
the result of Moan’s departure.
Of course he was relieved of duties.
I visited him once.
He asked if I had gone to the track.
I said, “No.” Strangely, this upset him.
“But I told you, I told you...I’m finished.
Mona saw to that.
But you! You! Let it be you! ”
“What? ” I asked.
“To write!
to be where suffering humanity is...
at the track.”
I stared at him as he swallowed
half the bottle of Pepto-Bismol
in one long desperate gulp.
More than enough suffering right here,
I mumbled to myself
then said: “The Buk would have gotten
five, six stories outta this affair with Mona.”
“I am not him, ” he sighed
as he quickly dumped down the remaining Pepto-Bismol
a goodly portion of which
drooled from lips onto his chin.
“It’s up to you, Bernstein. You!
Tell my tale!
Betrayal!
Loneliness!
A man crushed! ”
I stared at Milton Pell
now trembling
barely able to open
the box of chalk
which I did for him
then: crunching
then: a smile.