Charles Bukowski

the good loser

red face
Texas
and age
he’s at an L.A.
racetrack
been talking to
a group of folks.
it’s the 4th race
and he’s ready to
leave:
“well, goodbye,
folks and God bless,
see you around
tomorrow...”
 
“nice fellow.”
“yeh.”
 
he’s going to the
parking lot to
get into a 12 year
old car
 
from there he’ll
drive to a roominghouse
 
his room will neither
have a toilet nor a
bath
 
his room will have
one window with a
torn paper shade
and outside will be
a crumbling cement wall
spray-can graffiti courtesy
of a Chicano youth gang
 
he’ll take off his
shoes and
get on the bed
 
it will be dark
but he won’t turn
on the light
 
he’s got nothing
to do.
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