I Can't Stay in the Same Room with That Woman for Five Minutes
I Can't Stay in the Same Room with That Woman for Five Minutes - meaning Summary
Domestic Irritation and Stubbornness
The speaker recounts picking up his daughter from her mother, who praises a local poet who "wouldn't send" his work out. Their bickering about parenting and artistic pretension escalates into vulgar parting remarks. The narrator stops at a bar, sees a rude spectacle, and insists he does submit his poems to magazines, asserting a defiant, practical stance. The poem juxtaposes domestic irritation, artistic posturing, and crude humor to show stubborn authenticity amid petty conflicts.
Read Complete AnalysesI went over the other day to pick up my daughter. her mother came out with workman's overalls on. I gave her the child support money and she laid a sheaf of poems on me by one Manfred Anderson. I read them. he's great, she said. does he send this shit out? I asked. oh no, she said, Manfred wouldn't do that. why? well, I don't know exactly. listen, I said, you know all the poets who don't send their shit out. the magazines aren't ready for them, she said, they're too far advanced for publication. oh for christ's sake, I said, do you really believe that? yes, yes, I really believe that, she answered. look, I said, you don't even have the kid ready yet. she doesn't have her shoes on. can't you put her shoes on? your daughter is 8 years old, she said, she can put her own shoes on. listen, I said to my daughter, for christ's sake will you put your shoes on? Manfred never screams, said her mother. OH HOLY JESUS CHRIST! I yelled you see, you see? she said, you haven't changed. what time is it? I asked. 4:30. Mandred did submit some poems once, she said, but they sent them back and he was terribly upset. you've got your shoes on, I said to my daughter, let's go. her mother walked to the door with us. have a nice day, she said. fuck off, I said. when she closed the door there was a sign pasted to the outside. it said: SMILE. I didn't. we drove down Pico on the way in. I stopped outside the Red Ox. I'll be right back, I told my daughter. I walked in, sat down, and ordered a scotch and water. over the bar there was a little guy popping in and out of a door holding a very red, curved penis in his hand. can't can't you make him stop? I asked the barkeep. can't you shut that thing off? what's the matter with you, buddy? he asked. I submit my poems to the magazines, I said. you submit your poems to the magazines? he asked. you are god damned right I do, I said. I finished my drink and got back to the car. I drove down Pico Boulevard. the remainder of the day was bound to be better.
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