as the orchid dies
and the grass goes
insane, let’s have one for the lost:
met an old man
and a tired whore
in a bar
at 8:00 in the morning
across from MacArthur Park—
we were sitting over our beers
he and I and the old whore
who had slept in an unlocked car
the night before
and wore a blue necklace.
the old guy said to me:
look at my arms. I’m all bone.
no meat on me.”
and he pulled back his sleeves
and he was right—
bone with just a layer of skin
hanging like paper.
he said, “I don’t eat
nothin’.”
bought him a beer and the
whore a beer.
now there, I thought, is a man
who doesn’t eat
meat, he doesn’t eat
vegetables. kind of a saint.
was like a church in there
as only the truly lost
sit in bars on Tuesday mornings
at 8:00 a.m.
then the whore said, “Jesus,
I don’t score to night I’m
finished. I’m scared, I’m really
scared. you guys can go to skid row
when things get bad. but where can a
woman go?”
we couldn’t answer her.
she picked up her beer with one hand
and played with her blue beads with the
other.
finished my beer, went to the
corner and got a Racing Form from Teddy the
newsboy—age 61.
you got a hot one today?”
no, Teddy, I gotta see the board; money
makes them run.”
I’ll give you 4 bucks. bet one for
me.”
took his 4 bucks. that would buy a sandwich,
pay parking, plus 2
coffees. I got into my car, drove
off. too early for the
track. blue beads and bones. the
universe was
bent. a cop rode his bike right up
behind me. the day had really
begun.
Other works by Charles Bukowski...
