she writes
continually
like a long nozzle
spraying
the air,
and she argues
continually;
there is nothing
I can say
that is really not’
something else, so,
I stop saying;
and finally
she argues herself
out the door
saying
something like—
I’m not trying to
impress myself
upon you.
but I know
she will be
back, they always
come back.
and
at 5 p.m.
she was knocking at the door.
I let her in.
I won’t stay long, she said,
if you don’t want me.
it’s all right, I said,
I’ve got to take a
bath.
she walked into the kitchen and
began on the
dishes.
it’s like being married:
you accept
everything
as if
it hadn’t happened.
Other works by Charles Bukowski...
