Do I Wish People Ill?

(for Charles Bukowski)

“Do you wish people ill?” someone asked me once.

I don’t really think so. At least
not what Hitler wished for the Jews.

But maybe due to some childhood f***up,
maybe due to some character trait
that I may not be conscious of,
I can be a very sarcastic son of a bitch.

and very, very bitter.

Do I wish people ill?

Well, sometimes I have a secret smirk on my
face, telling I told you so.

A self-righteous smirk like that of
a born-again self-righteous jerk, pointing an
index finger at the sinners.

You sinners, you, is there anything
pure left in the world?!

And sometimes I laugh at those people
always quick to show me my weaknesses
and deceptions and falling into the same
trap.

telling me to be responsible when they themselves
are living off someone else.

Do I wish people ill?

No, and I hope I never will.

even though I watch horror movies and have a
morbid taste for sex and violence.

And I wish sometimes that people would be a bit
more honest, a bit more up-front.

But maybe that’s asking too much.

Do I wish people ill?

Out of some kind of envy or jealousy? Or a deep-seated
hurt?

No, no, no.

But I look at those lying faces, telling me that
they have made that bundle, that it’s all in the bag,
that the bitch they just met at the bar
really wants their body, that nihilism is
a revolutionary philosophy, that I’m not
as good-looking or as smart,

and I look and I look,

and I tell them “sure, man, sure,
whatever you say,”

feeling kind of numb inside,

do I wish people ill? I wonder

or I just laugh at the stupidity of
it all, and maybe that’s why I don’t like
weddings and funerals,

because one is a lot like the other,

only you dress differently,

but I can’t tell between black and white
anymore, and all those faces look
so gray to me

and lifeless—

do I wish people ill?

or do I weep inside,
trying to tell
the difference between
good and evil?


July 10, 1987
--Alexander Shaumyan