don’t touch the girls
she’s up seeing my doctor
trying to get some diet pills;
she’s not fat, she needs the speed.
I go down to the nearest bar and wait.
at 3:30 in the afternoon of a tuesday.
they have a dancer.
there’s only one other man in the bar.
she works out
looking at herself in the mirror.
she’s like a monkey
dark
Korean.
she’s not very good,
skinny and obvious
and she sticks her tongue out at me
then at the other man.
times must be truly hard, I think.
I have a few more beers then get up to leave.
she waves me over.
“you go?” she asks.
“yes,” I say, “my wife has cancer.”
I shake her hand.
she points to a sign behind her:
DON’T TOUCH THE GIRLS.
she points to the sign and says,
“the sign says, ‘DON’T TOUCH THE GIRLS’.”
I go back to the parking lot and wait.
she comes out.
“did you get the pills?” I ask.
“yes,” she says.
“then it’s been a successful day.”
I think of the dancer walking across my
kitchen. I can’t visualize it. I am going
to die alone
just the way I live.
“take me to my place,” she says,
“I’ve got to get ready for night school.”
“sure,” I say and drive her on in.
Other works by Charles Bukowski...
