Charisma
this woman keeps phoning me
even though I tell her I am living with a woman
I love.
I keep hearing noises in the environment,
she phones,
I thought it was you.
me? I haven’t been drunk for several
days.
well, maybe it wasn’t you but I felt it was
somebody who was trying to help
me.
maybe it was God. do you think He’s there?
yes, He’s a hook from the ceiling.
I thought so.
I’m growing tomatoes in my basement,
she says.
that’s sensible.
I want to move, where shall I move?
north is obvious, west is the ocean. the east is the
past. south is the only way.
south?
yes, but not past the border. it’s death to
gringos.
what’s Salinas like? she asks.
if you like lettuce
go to Salinas.
suddenly she hangs up. she always does that. and she
always phones back in a day or a week or a
month. she’ll be at my funeral with tomatoes and the
yellow pages of the phonebook stuck into the pockets of
her mince-brown overcoat in 97 degree heat,
I have a way with the ladies.
Otras obras de Charles Bukowski...
