Charles Bukowski

social

the blue pencil of the wave
shots of yellow road
 
a steering wheel
an insane woman sitting
next to you
 
complaining as the ocean
creams-off
 
and people in yellow and
white
campers
block your way
a frantic
time
as you listen
guilty of this and
guilty of that
 
you admit
this and that
but it’s not
enough
 
she wants splendid
conquest
and you’re weary of
splendid
conquest
 
getting there
she climbs out
walks toward the
house
you piss across the
fender of your car
drunk on beer
 
little spots of you
dripping down into
the dust
the dry
dust
 
zipping up you
march in to
meet her
friends.
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