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Love Is a Dog From Hell_ Poems, 1974-1977 - Charles Bukowski [14]

By Root 233 0

now move off.”

then I closed the door.

she was back again in 5 minutes:

“Hank, I can’t find my car, I

swear I can’t find my car. help

me find my car!”

I saw my friend Bobby-the-Riff

walking by. “hey, Bobby, help

this one find her car. we’ll

even it up later.”

they went off together.

later Bobby said they found her

car parked on somebody’s front

lawn, lights on and motor

running.

I haven’t heard from Vera

since

unless she’s the one

who keeps phoning at

2 and 3 and 4 a.m. in the

morning

and doesn’t answer when I

say “hello.”

but Bobby says he

can handle her

so I’ve decided to turn her over

to Bobby.

she lives on a side street somewhere

in Glendale

and I help him unfold the

roadmap as we sip our

diet Schlitz.

the worst and the best

in the hospitals and jails

it’s the worst

in madhouses

it’s the worst

in penthouses

it’s the worst

in skid row flophouses

it’s the worst

at poetry readings

at rock concerts

at benefits for the disabled

it’s the worst

at funerals

at weddings

it’s the worst

at parades

at skating rinks

at sexual orgies

it’s the worst

at midnight

at 3 a.m.

at 5:45 p.m.

it’s the worst

falling through the sky

firing squads

that’s the best

thinking of India

looking at popcorn stands

watching the bull get the matador

that’s the best

boxed lightbulbs

an old dog scratching

peanuts in a celluloid bag

that’s the best

spraying roaches

a clean pair of stockings

natural guts defeating natural talent

that’s the best

in front of firing squads

throwing crusts to seagulls

slicing tomatoes

that’s the best

rugs with cigarette burns

cracks in sidewalks

waitresses still sane

that’s the best

my hands dead

my heart dead

silence

adagio of rocks

the world ablaze

that’s the best

for me.

coupons

cigarettes wetted with beer from

the night before

you light one

gag

open the door for air

and on your doorstep

is a dead sparrow

his head and breast

chewed away.

hanging from the doorknob

is an ad from the All American

Burger

consisting of several coupons

which

say

that with the purchase

of a burger

from Feb. 12 thru Feb. 15

you can get a free

regular size bag of french

fries and one

10 oz. cup of coca cola.

I take the ad

wrap the sparrow

carry him to the trash bin

and dump him

in.

look:

forsaking fries and coke

to help keep

my city

clean.

luck

what’s bad about all

this

is watching people

drinking coffee and

waiting. I would

douse them all

with luck. they need

it. they need it

worse than I do.

I sit in cafes

and watch them

waiting. I suppose

there’s not much

else to do. the

flies walk up and

down the windows

and we drink our

coffee and pretend

not to look at

each other. I

wait with them.

between the movement

of the flies

people walk by.

dog

a single dog

walking alone on a hot sidewalk of

summer

appears to have the power

of ten thousand gods.

why is this?

trench warfare

sick with the flu

drinking beer

my radio on loud

enough to overcome

the sounds of the

stereo people who

have just moved

into the court

across the way.

asleep or awake

they play their

set at top volume

leaving their

doors and windows

open.

they are each

18, married, wear

red shoes,

are blonde,

slim.

they play

everything: jazz,

classical, rock,

country, modern

as long as it is

loud.

this is the problem

of being poor:

we must share each

other’s sounds.

last week it was

my turn:

there were two women

in here

fighting each other

and then they

ran up the walk

screaming.

the police came.

now it’s their

turn.

now I am walking

up and down in

my dirty shorts,

two rubber earplugs

stuck deep into

my ears.

I even consider

murder.

such rude little

rabbits!

walking little pieces

of snot!

but in our land

and in our way

there has never

been a chance;

it’s only when

things are not

going too badly

for a while

that we forget.

someday they’ll

each be dead

someday they’ll

each have a

separate coffin

and it will be

quiet.

but right now

it’s Bob Dylan

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