Charles Bukowski

Fuzz

3 small boys run toward me
blowing whistles
and they scream
you’re under arrest!
you’re drunk!
and they begin
hitting me on the legs with
their toy clubs.
one even has a
badge. another has
handcuffs but my hands are high in the air.
when I go into the liquor store
they whirl around outside
like bees
shut out from their nest.
I buy a fifth of cheap whiskey
and
3
candy bars.
¿Disfrutate esta lectura? ¡invítanos a un café!.
Tu ayuda nos permite existir.
Otras obras de Charles Bukowski...



Arriba