fooling Marie (the poem)
he met her at the racetrack, a strawberry
blonde with round hips, well-bosomed, long legs,
turned-up nose, flower mouth, in a pink dress,
wearing white high-heeled shoes.
she began asking him questions about various
horses while looking up at him with her pale blue
eyes.
he suggested the bar and they had a drink, then
watched the next race together.
he hit fifty-win on a sixty-to-one shot and she
jumped up and down.
then she whispered in his ear,
you’re the magic man! I want to fuck you!”
he grinned and said, “I’d like to, but
Marie... my wife...”
she laughed, “we’ll go to a motel!”
so they cashed the ticket, went to the parking lot,
got into her car. “I’ll drive you back when
we’re finished,” she smiled.
they found a motel about a mile
west. she parked, they got out, checked in, went to
room 302.
they had stopped for a bottle of Jack Daniel’s
on the way. he stood and took the glasses out of the
cellophane. as she undressed he poured two.
she had a marvelous young body. she sat on the edge of
the bed sipping at the Jack Daniel’s as he
undressed. he felt awkward, fat and old
but knew he was lucky: it promised to be his best day
ever.
then he too sat on the edge of the bed with her and
his Jack Daniel’s. she reached over
and grabbed him between the legs, bent over
and went down on him.
he pulled her under the covers and they played some more.
finally, he mounted her and it was great, it was a
miracle, but soon it ended, and when she
went to the bathroom he poured two more drinks
thinking, I’ll shower real good, Marie will never
know.
she came out and they sat in bed
making small talk.
I’m going to shower now,” he told her,
I’ll be out soon.”
o.k., cutie,” she said.
he soaped good in the shower, washing away all the
perfume, the woman-smell.
hurry up, daddy!” he heard her say.
won’t be long, baby!” he yelled from the
shower.
he got out, toweled off, then opened the bathroom
door and stepped out.
the motel room was empty.
she was gone.
on som e impulse he ran to the closet, pulled the door
open: nothing there but coat hangers.
then he noticed that his clothes were gone, his underwear, his shirt, his pants with the car keys and his wallet, all the money, his shoes, his stockings, everything.
on another impulse he looked under the bed.
nothing.
then he saw the bottle of Jack Daniel’s, half full,
standing on the dresser.
he walked over and poured a drink.
as he did he saw the word scrawled on the dresser
mirror in pink lipstick: SUCKER.
he drank the whiskey, put the glass down and watched himself
in the mirror, very fat, very tired, very old.
he had no idea what to do next.
he carried the whiskey, back to the bed, sat down,
lifted the bottle and sucked at it as the light from the
boulevard came in through the dusty blinds. then he just sat
and looked out and watched the cars, passing back and
forth.
Autres oeuvres par Charles Bukowski...
