The jew bent over and
died. 99 machine guns
were shipped to France. somebody won the 3rd race
while I inspected
the propeller of an old monoplane
a man came by with a patch over his eye. it began to
rain, it rained and it rained and the ambulances ran
together
in the streets, and although
everything was properly dull
I enjoyed the moment
like the time in New Orleans
living on candy bars
and watching the pigeons
in a back alley with a French name
as behind me the river became
a gulf
and the clouds moved sickly through
a sky that had died
about the time Caesar was knifed,
and I promised myself then
that someday I’d remember it
as it was.
a man came by and coughed.
think it’ll stop raining? he said.
I didn’t answer. I touched the
old propeller and listened to the
ants on the roof rushing over
the edge of the world, go away, I said,
go away or I’ll call
the guard.
Other works by Charles Bukowski...
