the promise
she bent over the side of the bed
and opened the portfolio
along the side of the wall.
we were drinking.
she said, “you promised me these
paintings once, don’t you
remember?”
“what? no, no, I don’t remember.”
“well, you did,” she said, “and you
ought to keep your promises.”
“leave those fucking paintings alone,”
I said.
then I walked into the kitchen for
a beer. I paused to vomit
and when I came out
I saw her through my window
going down the court walk
toward her place in back.
she was trying to hurry
and balanced on top of her head
were 40 paintings:
oils
black and whites
acrylics
water colors.
she stumbled once and almost
fell on her ass.
then she ran up her steps
and was gone through her door
to her place upstairs
running with all those paintings
on top of her head.
it was one of the funniest damned
things I ever did see.
well, I guess I’ll just have to
paint 40 more.
Other works by Charles Bukowski...
