Love Is a Dog From Hell_ Poems, 1974-1977 - Charles Bukowski [7]
demanded to know why.
she began screaming and moaning from the
bathtub and I couldn’t hear and I said, “just a
moment, please!”
I covered the phone and screamed at her in the bathtub:
“LOOK! I’M ON LONG DISTANCE! HOLD IT DOWN, FOR CHRIST’S
SAKE!”
the insurance people still maintained that I owed them
$76 and would send me a letter explaining why.
I hung up and stretched out on the bed.
I was already married, I felt married.
she came out of the bathroom and said, “can I stretch out
beside you?”
and I said, “o.k.”
in ten minutes her color was normal.
It was because she had taken a niacin tablet.
she remembered that it happened every time.
we stretched out there sweating:
nerves. nobody has soul enough to overcome nerves.
but I couldn’t tell her that.
she wanted her baby.
what the fuck.
pacific telephone
you go for these wenches, she said,
you go for these whores,
I’ll bore you.
I don’t want to be shit on anymore,
I said,
relax.
when I drink, she said, it hurts my
bladder, it burns.
I’ll do the drinking, I said.
you’re waiting for the phone to ring,
she said,
you keep looking at the phone.
if one of those wenches phones you’ll
run right out of here.
I can’t promise you anything, I said.
then—just like that—the phone rang.
this is Madge, said the phone. I’ve
got to see you right away.
oh, I said.
I’m in a jam, she continued, I need ten
bucks—fast.
I’ll be right over, I said, and
hung up.
she looked at me. it was a wench,
she said, your whole face lit up.
what the hell’s the matter with
you?
listen, I said, I’ve got to leave.
you stay here. I’ll be right back.
I’m going, she said. I love you but you’re
crazy, you’re doomed.
she got her purse and slammed the door.
it’s probably some deeply-rooted childhood fuckup
that makes me vulnerable, I thought.
then I left my place and got into my volks.
I drove north up Western with the radio on.
there were whores walking up and down
both sides of the street and Madge looked
more vicious than any of them.
225 pounds
we were in bed and
she started to fight:
“you son of a bitch! you just wait a minute,
I’ll get you!”
I began laughing:
“what’s the matter? what’s the matter?”
“you son of a bitch!” she screamed.
I held her hands as she squirmed.
she was a couple of decades younger than I
a health food freak.
she was very strong.
“you son of a bitch! I’ll get you!”
she screamed.
I rolled on top of her with my 225 pounds and
just layed it there on her.
“uugg, oooo, my God, that’s not fair, oooo, my
God!”
I rolled off and walked into the other room and
sat on the couch.
“I’ll get you, bastard,” she said, “you just
wait!”
“just don’t bite it off,” I said, “or you’ll make
a half dozen women very unhappy.”
she climbed up on the headboard of my bed
(it did have a flat though narrow surface)
and sat perched there watching the news on
tv.
the tv faced the bedroom and it illuminated
her as she sat up there on the
headboard.
“I thought you were sane,” I said, “but you’re
just as crazy as the rest of them.”
“be quiet,” she said, “I want to watch the
news!”
“look,” I said, “I’ll…”
“SHUSH!” she said.
and there she was up on the headboard of my bed
really watching the news. I accepted her that
way.
turnabout
she drives into the parking lot while
I am leaning up against the fender of my car.
she’s drunk and her eyes are wet with tears:
“you son of a bitch, you fucked me when you
didn’t want to. you told me to keep phoning
you, you told me to move closer into town,
then you told me to leave you alone.”
it’s all quite dramatic and I enjoy it.
“sure, well, what do you want?”
“I want to talk to you, I want to go to your
place and talk to you…”
“I’m with somebody now. she’s in getting a
sandwich.”
“I want to talk to you…it takes a while
to get over things. I need more time.”
“sure. wait until she comes out. we’re not
inhuman, we’ll all have a drink together.”
“shit,” she says, “oh shit!”
she jumps into her car and drives off.
the other one comes out: