she undressed in front of me
keeping her pussy to the front
while I lay in bed with a bottle of
beer.
where’d you get that wart on
your ass? I asked.
that’s no wart, she said,
that’s a mole, a kind of
birthmark.
that thing scares me, I said,
let’s call
off.
got out of bed and
walked into the other room and
sat on the rocker
and rocked.
she walked out. now, listen, you
old fart. you’ve got warts and scars and
all kinds of things all over
you. I do believe you’re the ugliest
old man
I’ve ever seen.
forget that, I said, tell me some more
about that
mole on your butt.
she walked into the other room
and got dressed and then ran past me
slammed the door
and was
gone.
and to think,
she’d read all my books of
poetry too.
just hoped she wouldn’t tell
anybody that
wasn’t pretty.
Other works by Charles Bukowski...
