The Old German

What the hell was the name of it? The
German something. He said he always went there after class for
beer so I did too and there he was, Mr. "I'm not responsible."
Perhaps he wasn't. I always believed he took pride in how his
presence affected women; on the other hand I know
he didn't put on an act. In those days I had no idea how
a couple of glasses of beer would change my character, so
I entered a world then I knew nothing about. Could it have been
The Old German? Yes, I think that was it, The Old German. I wonder
if it's still there. And The Blue Front, where I went for poetry and my
husband went for nudist magazines, or sent me for them, astonishing me
finally by his rage when I mentioned this errand in front of
friends. His interest in nudity was
supposed to be a secret? This guy who hit on
every single woman (and some married ones)
he ever encountered? But then, other people's
secrets have always been mysteries to me; I'm not sure
I myself ever had one. Trying to remember my last
secret; nope, I'm a blabbermouth, don't
have secrets of my own and don't
keep other people's. Except I don't think I ever told anyone
how happy I was when one day I drove by that house he
built with his own hands and saw it had burned
to the ground. "You!"
he would say. "You
are the only
you
there ever has been or
ever will be." I must say I'm glad
he was the only him there ever has been; I don't think anyone
could stand him twice.