Love Is a Dog From Hell_ Poems, 1974-1977 - Charles Bukowski [21]
my face falling into the mass
of red hair that overflowed
from her head
and my fattened cock entered
into the miracle.
later we joked about the lotion
and the cigarette and the apple.
then I went out and got some chicken
and shrimp and french fries and buns
and mashed potatoes and gravy and
cole slaw, and we ate. she told me
how good she felt and I told her
how good I felt and we ate
the chicken and the shrimp and the
french fries and the buns and the
mashed potatoes and the gravy and
the cole slaw too.
light brown
light brown stare
that dumb blank marvelous
light brown stare
I’ll take care of
it.
you needn’t carry me
anymore
with your Cleopatra
movie star
tricks
do you realize
that if I were an adding machine
I might break down
tabulating
how many times you’ve used
that light brown stare?
not that you’re not the best
with your light brown stare.
someday some crazy son of a bitch
is going to murder you
and you’ll cry out my name
you’ll finally know
what you should have known
so very long
ago.
huge ear rings
I go to pick her up.
she’s on some errand.
she always has errands
many things to do.
I have nothing to do.
she comes out of her apartment
I see her move toward my car
she is barefooted
dressed casually
except for huge ear rings.
I light a cigarette
and when I look up
she is stretched out on the street
a quite busy street
all 112 pounds of her
as beautiful as anything you might
imagine.
I switch on the radio
and wait for her to get up.
she does.
I flip the car door open.
she gets in. I drive away from the
curb. she likes the song on the radio
she turns the radio up.
she seems to like all the songs
she seems to know all the songs
each time I see her she looks better
and better
200 years ago they would have burned her
at the stake
now she puts on her
mascara as we
drive along.
she came out of the bathroom with her flaming red hair and said—
the cops want me to come down and identify
some guy who tried to rape me.
I’ve lost the key to my car again; I’ve got
the key to open the door but not the one
to start it.
those people are trying to take my child
away from me but I won’t let them.
Rochelle almost o.d.’d, then she went at
Harry with something, and he punched her.
she’s had those cracked ribs, you know,
and one of them punctured her lung. she’s
down at the county under a machine.
where’s my comb?
your comb has all that guck in it.
I told her,
I haven’t seen your
comb.
a killer
consistency is terrific:
shark-mouth
grubby interior with an
almost perfect body,
long blazing hair—
it confuses me
and others
she runs from man to man
offering endearments
she speaks of love
then breaks each man
to her will
shark-mouthed
grubby interior
we see it too late:
after the cock gets swallowed
the heart follows
her long blazing hair,
her almost perfect body
walks down the street
as the same sun
falls upon flowers.
longshot
she’s not for you, man,
she’s not your type,
she’s erased
she’s been used
she’s got all the wrong
habits,
he told me
in between races.
I’m going to bet the 4
horse, I told him.
well, it’s only that I’d
like to turn her around
in mid-stream,
save her, you might say.
you can’t save her, he said,
you’re 55, you need kindness.
I’m going to bet the 6 horse.
you’re not the one to save
her.
who can save her? I asked.
I don’t think the 6 has a
chance, I like the 4.
she needs somebody to beat her
from wall to wall, he said,
kick her ass, she’d love
it. She’d stay home and
wash the dishes.
the 6 horse will be in
the running.
I’m no good at beating women,
I said.
forget her then, he said.
it’s hard to, I said.
he got up and bet the 6
and I got up and bet the 4.
the 5 horse won
by 3 lengths
at 15 to one.
she’s got red hair
like lightning from heaven,
I said.
forget her, he said.
we tore up our tickets
and stared at the lake
in the center of the track.
it was going to be
a long afternoon
for both of us.
the promise
she