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42 Someone Else’s Good News Even as I say, “That’s fantastic! I’m glad for you,“ my hand quivers, my mood Conks out, flaming, at thirty thousand feet. What is the sound of “overjoyed,“ and how Convey it, as if what is good for friends Is good for me—as if my own crippled Hopes aren’t leaping off gurneys, flopping Out of wheelchairs screaming, “Shit! Shit! Why Wasn’t it me?!“ Sheepish good sport, bloodyNosed loser shaking the champion’s hand, Poor jilted chump who sends a wedding gift And sings “Take good care of my baby,“ I wince to hear how winner Joan almost Skipped the contest I’ve entered faithfully For twenty years, how winner John rang The wrong doorbell and blundered into the woman I’ve spent thousands on dating services And flirting seminars trying to find. I feel mean, treacherous, small, fighting Not to think “Get cancer,“ “Die in a car wreck,“ “Be burned alive with your pisshead cheerful Wife and noisy, overindulged kids.“ Trophy trout leaping on every line But mine, I crash upstream, downstream, cursed By everyone whose cast I cross, whose hole I hog. All dignity lost, all pretense gone, I foam like an envy-salted snail. Acid in my eyes: the excitement Of the fortunate, the grin (politely restrained) That says I’ve done it! I’ve arrived! 43 While for me it’s Oh God no, back To page one, back to the empty canvas, back To the old job, back to the hands above The keyboard, paralyzed, not knowing how To start again. I wave as friends’ yachts leave The dock, straining to hoist the corners Of my mouth, although the little Atlases Supporting them have gulped bad oysters, and Just want to lie down, just want to throw up. ...

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