sleep at Lila’s and in the morning
we get the breakfast special at the local cafe,
then it’s up to her friend Buffy’s.
Buffy has boy twins, father in doubt, and lives on relief
in a $150-a-month apt.
the twins wail, crawl about, I pick one up, he pulls at
my goatee.
how nice,” I say, “to be sitting with 2 lovely ladies
at ten in the morning in the city of Burbank while
other men work.”
every time the twins get changed I note they have hard-ons
their troubles begin at the age of one)
and their asses are red with rash and sadness.
used to open and close the bars,” I say,
used to whip men 20 years younger than myself. now I sit
with women and babies.”
we have our coffees. I borrow a cigarette. (Buffy knows I
am good for it. I’ll buy her a pack
later.) the girls joke about my ugly face.
smoke. after this I need some profundities but
Buddha doesn’t help much.
Buffy gets up and shakes her behind at me:
you can’t have me, Chinaski, you’re too old, you’re too
ugly.”
well, you see, it’s difficult for me. Lila and I finish
our coffees and climb down the green steps to the
blue-green
swimming pool. it is 11 a.m. India and Pakistan are at
war. we get into my smashed ’62 Comet. it
starts. well, we can go to the races, we can screw again,
we can sleep, we can have a Mexican marriage, we can argue
and split or she can read to me about fresh murders in the
Herald-Examiner.
ends up
we argue and split and I forget to go get
Buffy her pack of
cigarettes.
Other works by Charles Bukowski...
