Make a Joke

and I Will Sigh

and You Will Laugh
and I Will Cry
by Tony Tr ig i l io

Scantily Clad Press, 2008

 1

Yesterday morning, a red spot on the bridge

of my nose.

My wife said it’s a zit. It’s not

a bump. I’m afraid to look at myself

in the mirror, in case the spot grows larger.

Lake Shore Drive shut down.

My students beat by police. Joggers

arrested. Henry came to class

a slash cut above his eye, baton bruise

in flight along on his back.

I tried to park
on my block

a glutted street
Crowd of

3- and 4-story
apartment buildings

the whole neighborhood

owns cars

Found an open
space -- blocked

by someone double-
parked, flashers on.
 2

For 2 weeks a package sat in our building lobby. The address is correct,
but my neighbor moved 6 months ago. The mail carrier could take the
package away. It’s been here 2 weeks, she knows the names of everyone
in the building.

I drove to Office Max today.

When I stepped out of the car
saw a peach-colored streak,
bottom of my right pant leg.

I looked again:
hairball trail
my cat vomited on the bed
this afternoon. The pants

were on the bed, but I thought

I cleaned everything.
No time to drive
back home and I needed

a new box of computer paper.

I bought the paper, cat vomit
on my right pant leg
as I walked through the store.
 3

A man, the table next

to me, ordered a bagel to go

The woman behind

the counter threw it

toasted and wrapped

She threw the bagel

too hard and it whizzed

past him and hit me

in the shoulder
I was struck by a bagel

in the coffee shop

This isn’t a beer commercial

or a Drew Barrymore movie

I was hit by a bagel

 4

Three weeks ago the superintendent of our building made labels with our
last names,
stuck them on the apartment buzzer buttons and mailboxes.

He misspelled my surname -- it’s “ethnic.” Last year, when we moved in,

I taped a homemade laser-printed label on the mailbox with my
name

of course spelled correctly. He could have transcribed my name from this

label.
It’s not like I’m called “Mr. Mxyzptlk” or anything.

I called and he apologized and said he’d fix it. Three weeks ago. I called
again today and he didn’t remember our original conversation.

That’s OK, I said, I just called to let you know the label hasn’t been
corrected yet.
He said, These things take time to order. I didn’t know.

Of course it takes time, he said. Then he told me: Look, if you want, you
can just
go to Clark-Devon Hardware and order one yourself. I want all

the labels for everyone in the building to look the same. They’re all black
with gold
lettering. If I order one that is irregular -- in font or color -- all the
labels

on the buzzer and the mailbox will look terrible. I was polite. I just want
my name spelled correctly. We’re talking about my home.

Drove to school today -- taught my last night class

of the semester & wanted to spoil myself -- the wait
for the subway at 9:15 p.m. takes forever --

near Loyola University, lake shore, just a couple

miles
from my apartment -- trees on the north side of
the street
waved their arms -- blew themselves into my car
--
 their fingertips swiped snow and gust -- nothing
but
Kubrick white in front of me --
 5

I think an old friend of mine, Andy, someone I’ve known 14 years, got
married without telling me. We live in the same city, barely 5 miles from
each other. Usually we keep in regular contact. But the last time I saw him
was back in September, when we went to a baseball game together. He
didn’t say anything about marriage. Talking recently with a mutual friend,
I discovered Andy might have gotten married this fall. His wife might be
pregnant. The last time we spoke, a phone conversation at Christmas, he
canceled two cat-sitting gigs my wife and I planned to do for him over the
holidays. He said thanks, but his cat could be alone both those weekends.
He didn’t say he was married or that he was going to be a father. I’ve
lived in two different cities with him. Helped him through a divorce and
his father’s terminal illness. He listens to me struggle with my father’s
senility. I called my father on his cell phone yesterday. “Are you at home?”
I asked. He said, “No, I’m in the living room watching TV.” I tried to re-
establish communication with Andy last week, an email asking for advice
on a company to repair our hardwood floors. He hasn’t responded.
 6

My wife started nicknaming me “big shot” and “funny boy.” She says
things like, “Who are you emailing now, big shot?” or “Why don’t you buy
us a bottle of wine, funny boy?”
 7

On the way to our neighborhood café this past Sunday, I stopped at the
convenience store
to buy a newspaper.

A sign on the door said the store opened at 9 a.m. It was already 10 in the
morning. But the store
wasn’t open. They do this, especially on weekends.
 8

Earwax affects
the way I
hear music

I lose sharp
highs Midrange
flatter than

it should be
Lows muffled
It’s there all

the time,
reminding me what
I’m missing

Nearly every time

I take the train home
at mid-day, the stairs

to the street
smell like pee.
But if I come

home later the odor isn’t

there. And I don’t smell it
in the morning.

Someone in my
neighborhood pisses
on the train platform

at noon every day.

I can handle subway urine stench --
it’s part of cities like mounds

of deer shit in nature.

I want to know why
it’s the same time every day.
 9

Sat through a 2-hour committee meeting today

watched a nearly retired colleague stare at his tie

and tried to remember what tapioca pudding tastes like

not just to relive the last time I ate it (a month ago)

but for texture and smell, the motionless taste

then the muscles in back of my throat expand and

gloopy sweet pudding falls into my body

 10

My wife started calling herself “La Gatta” (the cat). She signs all of her
email correspondence this way. Her co-workers even call her La Gatta. I
have nothing against this nickname. Cats are my favorite animals in the
world. Nicknames should form organically. I’ve never known anyone who
just suddenly self-bestowed a nickname like this. What’s even stranger,
I’ve slipped into calling her La Gatta. It just started happening. One day, I
called her La Gatta and we both giggled. Next day, I called her that and
neither of us broke a laugh, as if it were the most natural thing I could do.
 11

I took a pill this morning and couldn’t swallow it. It got stuck in my throat.
I drank a glass of water. The pill disintegrated into powder in back of my
tongue. Burned every time I swallowed. A chunk of bread could push the
pill and powder down my throat. All our bread was in the freezer. I ripped
open a package of bagels, my throat scorched from the stuck pill. Thirty
seconds on “high” setting in the microwave. It burned when I ate the
bagel. Now I’m nauseous.
 12

At 7:30 this morning, my 84 year old father called and wished us a Merry
Christmas. Exactly one minute later, he called and wished us a Merry
Christmas -- no recollection he’d just called.
 13

Yesterday, I walked from the living room

into the kitchen and stumbled over a pair
of my shoes in front of the apartment door.
Not in my way at all. I’m just clumsy.

I dried myself after my shower this morning

and saw one of my toes was purple. It’s the entire toe,
the first one after my big toe on my right foot.
The same foot from my oafish stumble yesterday.

It’s killing me, and I don’t know if it’s a simple

bruise or something worse. I’ve never had a whole toe
turn purple. If it’s a bruise, I’ll get over it.
But it could be a broken blood vessel.

I don’t feel light-headed or anything.

 14

Last night I dreamed aquamarine insects, some gigantic, swarmed all over
my childhood home. Eventually they covered the house completely, a
buzzing shroud.
 15

A person called my cell phone today and didn’t leave a message. I called
the number right back. I said, “You called my cell phone and the Caller ID
picked it up.” The woman on the other end said, “Do you work for a
laminating company?”

Last night my neighbor called my cell

while I was taking a cab home. How did
he get my number? He said, “I have the flu.
Can you pick up some things for me
at the convenience store? I need a 2-liter bottle
of diet 7-Up. Diet. A carton of orange juice.
Not from concentrate. A bottle of Ny-Quil.
And those funny blue aspirin. You know what
I mean. Those blue aspirin.” I said, “My cab
just turned on our street. I have to go. I don’t
know blue aspirin. But I’ll get everything else.
And Ny-Quil contains aspirin anyway.”
 16

Tomorrow I’ll get up as usual around 7 a.m. Feed the cat. Make a pot of
coffee. Check the weather. Take a piss. Look in the bathroom mirror. I’ll
either shave or not. Then check my email. The coffee will be done. I’ll
drink a cup. Enough energy for a shower. I’ll dress for work. My clothing is
serviceable, but I’ll remind myself to buy new shoes this weekend. I forgot
last weekend. Then I’ll walk to the subway.
 17

Acknowledgments

These poems were originally written, in different forms, in response to

Heike Liss and Michael Trigilio’s conceptual art website, The Complaint
Project.
Tony Trigilio is the author or editor of four books, including the poetry
collection The Lama’s English Lessons (Three Candles); two books of
criticism, Allen Ginsberg’s Buddhist Poetics (Southern Illinois University
Press) and “Strange Prophecies Anew” (Fairleigh Dickinson University
Press); and an anthology, co-edited with Tim Prchal, Visions and Divisions:
American Immigration Literature, 1870-1930 (Rutgers University Press).
He teaches at Columbia College Chicago, where he directs the program in
Creative Writing - Poetry and co-edits the poetry magazine Court Green.