DRUM TO NO PACING by Wayne Bundy Somewhere a clock with a robot rhythm somewhere a beat with a slow slow stick somewhere a march in funeral rhythm somewhere a clock like a drum to your pacing tick left tock right tick tock left right. . . Four steps to the water cooler from the desk and right face three to the hat-rack and right face five to the edge of the rug and right face three to the desk and right face If you only walked slow enough you could only make the circuit three times to the minute four and a one three and a one five and a one three and a one twenty to the circle If the clock ticks to the second three circles to the minute ninety to the half hour one hundred and eighty to the hour Ninety since the doors closed on that pain-white room ninety till they opened one hundred and eighty while they let the bright blood flow and redden the sponges in the white room one hundred and eighty while you wait and pray hope and fear while you worry for both of you you and the wife you and the wife while you worry for all of you you and the wife and her whole damn family . . . Doors open wide at one hundred and twenty only one hundred and twenty that's not right must be over one way or the other that's not right not right not right one hundred and eighty they said But it's only a nurse no form under white on a carriage no white on a rubber-tired carriage wheel out your rubber-tired carriage wheel out your rubber-tired hack twelve men goin' to the graveyard and eleven damn silly song at one hundred and twenty and five how is she nurse? won't answer won't answer did I say it or think it how is she nurse? it's all right nurse isn't it nurse? won't answer why doesn't she answer . . . Nurse gone on without speaking the clock's up ahead and you have to hurry the clock didn't wait while you stopped for the nurse time waits for no man ever no man ever was it in time did she come here in time? Four Nurse back again one hundred and thirty nurse back again bottles and steel light on the pain-bright steel something wrong, nurse it's all right, isn't it? isn't it nurse isn't it nurse tell me, nurse tell me tell me tell me tell me hundred and thirty and five thirty and five . . . What a hell of a thing one hundred and forty your wife gray-white in a room light-white and her bright blood red on the sponges What a hell of a thing when her folks don't know when you can't tell her folks how the hell can you tell 'em when they've show her the gate for lovin' a punk like you no you can't tell her folks you can't say mister I married your daughter mister I couldn't take care of her mister she's white in a room death-white and you better come over and pray you better forget that she married a punk you better come over and pray What a hell of a thing one hundred and fifty too much going on in a white-bright room things taking too long doors shut too long too long too long though you know that you've thirty to go to the drum of the clock and there's nothing to worry about nothing nothing nothing it's a simple operation with absolutely nothing almost nothing hardly anything to it so you needn't worry her folks That's a laugh that is you needn't worry her folks ha ha you don't worry her folks ha ha you can't worry her folks you punk you can only walk to the drum of the clock at a hundred and eighty an hour . . . You can only think that you should have told 'em you can only think what you should have done you can only think at a hundred and sixty with too much bustle behind the doors you can only think when the doors open up and a nurse goes by with tight taut face and a word half-heard in the sigh of the door that fits at a hundred and sixty and five when one shoe squeaks on the accent beat adrenalin adrenalin you can only think to an accent beat of the thinks you've heard of the things you've heard to an accent beat a-dren-a-lin a left a right a-dren a-lin . . . You can't think right at a hundred and seventy with ten to go till the doors but you can hear voices somewhere in the past voices who told about someone someone who couldn't stand ether someone whose heart nearly stopped with it But you can't think right you don't dare think you simply can't think for they beat in your brain on the off-right beat a-dren-a-lin a-dren-a-lin can't take ether can't take ether heart stopped heart stopped left stopped heart right So you fly your top and forget about things you forget you're the punk who married their daughter you forget that door they slammed in your face you send a guy to phone 'em you send a guy to tell 'em mister, this is the hospital mister, your daughter's in here there'll be an operation they're ready now to do it and you better come over you better come over and pray . . . You can't think at all at one seventy-five because of the squeak on the accent beat of left and right a-dren-a-lin can't take ether heart stopped left right a-dren-a-lin Because you flopped you let her down she's in there and you let her down you wouldn't let her folks know you wouldn't give in and then you folded Five (Continued on page 14)