harbor freeway south
the dead dogs of nowhere bark
as you approach another
traffic accident.
cars
one standing on its
grill
the other 2 laying
on their sides
wheels turning slowly.
of them
at rest:
strange angles
in the dark.
has just
happened.
can see the still
bodies
inside.
these cars
scattered like toys
against the freeway
center
divider.
like spacecraft
they have landed
there
as you
drive past.
there’s no
ambulance yet
no police
cars.
the rain began
15 minutes
ago.
things occur.
volcanoes are
1500 times more
powerful than
the first a
bomb.
the dead dogs of
nowhere
those dogs keep
barking.
those cars
there like that.
obscene.
dirty trick.
it’s like
somebody dying
of a heart
attack
in a crowded
elevator
everybo dy
watching.
finally
reach my street
pull into
the driveway.
park.
get out.
she meets me
halfway
to the door.
don’t know
what to do,”
she says, “the
stove
went out.”
Autres oeuvres par Charles Bukowski...
