Charles Bukowski

Note to a Lady Who Expected Rupert Brooke

wha’, what did you expect? a schoolboy lisping Donne? or
some more practical lover filling you with the stench of Life?
I’m a fool and no gentleman: I walked the Brooklyn Bridge
with Crane in pajamas, but suicide fails as you get older:
there’s less and less to kill.
 
so among the skin and lambchops, the sick neckties of
other closets, I scheme schemes round as oranges
filled with the music of my crafty mumbling.
 
Brooke? no. I am a monkey with an olive lost in the
circus sand of your laughter, circus apes, circus tigers,
circus madmen of finance screwing their secretaries before
the 5:15...and what did you expect?
 
a pink-cheek dribbling Picasso colors on your dry brain?
 
so, the room was blue with the smoke of my boiling, hell,
a senseless sea
and I fell fingers sotted to the last pinch of your juice,
fell through the thorned vines cursing your name,
no gentleman
no gentleman,
kissed-off love like snake-bite,
the veranda buzzed with flies, buzzed with flies
and lies, and your red mouth screamed,
your lamps screamed
breaking like overdue bills:
 
DRUNK! DRUNK AGAIN!
O, YOU IDIOT!
 
so, Yeats, Keats, teats... nothing but an apricot!
 
wha’, what happened to Spain? my boy Lorca?
the revolution? must join the brigade!
lemme outa here!
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