the girls and the birds
the girls were young
and worked the
streets
but often couldn’t
score, they
ended up
in my hotel
room
or 4 of
them
sucking at the
wine,
hair in face,
runs in
stockings,
cursing, telling
stories...
somehow
those were
peaceful
nights
but really
they reminded me
of long
ago
when I was a
boy
watching my grandmother’s
canaries make
droppings
into their
seed
and into their
water
and the
canaries were
beautiful
and
chattered
but
never
sang.
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Other works by Charles Bukowski...
