problems about the other woman
I had worked my charms on her
for a couple of nights in a bar—
not that we were new lovers,
I had loved her for 16 months
but she didn’t want to come to my place
“because that other woman has been there,”
and I said, “all right, all right, what will we do?”
she had come in from the north and was looking for a
place to stay
meanwhile rooming with her girlfriend,
and she went to her rent-a-trailer
and got out some blankets and said,
“let’s go to the park.”
I told her she was crazy
the cops would get us
but she said, “no, it’s nice and foggy,”
so we went to the park
spread out the equipment and began
working and here came headlights—
a squad car—
she said, “hurry, get your pants on! I’ve got mine
on!”
I said, “I can’t. they’re all twisted-up.”
and they came with flashlights
and asked what we were doing and she said,
“kissing!” one of the cops looked at me and
said, “I don’t blame you,” and after some small
talk they left us alone.
but she still didn’t want the bed where that woman
had been,
so we ended up in a dark hot motel room
sweating and kissing and working
but we made it all right; but I mean,
after all that suffering...
we were at my place finally
that next afternoon
doing the same thing.
those weren’t bad cops though
that night in the park—
and it’s the first time I ever said that
about cops,
and,
I hope,
the last time I ever have
to.
Altre opere di Charles Bukowski...
