watch you walking with your machine.
ah, you’re too stupid to be cut like grass,
you’re too stupid to let anything violate you—
the girls won’t use their knives on you
they don’t want to
their sharp edge is wasted on you,
you are interested only in baseball games and
western movies and grass blades.
can’t you take just one of my knives?
here’s an old one—stuck into me in 1955,
she’s dead now, it wouldn’t hurt much.
can’t give you this last one—
can’t pull it out yet,
but here’s one from 1964, how about taking
this 1964 one from me?
man mowing the lawn across the way from me
don’t you have a knife somewhere in your gut
where love left?
man mowing the lawn across the way from me
don’t you have a knife somewhere deep in your heart
where love left?
man mowing the lawn across the way from me
don’t you see the young girls walking down the sidewalks now
with knives in their purses?
don’t you see their beautiful eyes and dresses and
hair?
don’t you see their beautiful asses and knees and
ankles?
man mowing the lawn across the way from me
is that all you see—those grass blades?
is that all you hear—the drone of the mower?
can see all the way to Italy
to Japan
to the Honduras
can see the young girls sharpening their knives
in the morning and at noon and at night, and
especially at night, o,
especially at night.
Other works by Charles Bukowski...
