beach trip
the strong men
the muscle men
there they sit
down at the beach
cocoa tans
with the weights s
cattered about them
untouched
they sit as the
waves go in and
out
they sit as the
stock market
makes and breaks
men and families
they sit while
one punch of a button
could turn their
turkeynecks to
black and shriveled
matchsticks
they sit while
suicides in green rooms
trade it in for space
they sit while former
Miss Americas
weep before wrinkled
mirrors
they sit
they sit with less
life-flow than apes
and my woman stops and
looks at them:
“oooh oooh oooh,” she
says.
I walk off with
my woman as the waves
go in and out.
“there’s something wrong
with them,” she said, “what
is it?”
“their love only runs in
one direction.”
the seagulls whirl and
the sea runs in and out
and we left them
back there
wasting themselves
time
this moment
the seagulls
the sea
the sand.
Altre opere di Charles Bukowski...
