red hair
real
she whirled it
and she asked
“is my ass still on?”
such comedy.
there is always one woman
to save you from another
and as that woman saves you
she makes ready to
destroy.
“sometimes I hate you,”
she said.
she walked out and sat on
my porch and read my copy
of Catullus, she stayed out
there for an hour.
people walked up and down
past my place
wondering where such an ugly
old man could get
such beauty.
I didn’t know either.
when she walked in I grabbed
her and pulled her to my lap.
I lifted my glass and told
her, “drink this.”
“oh,” she said, “you’ve mixed
wine with Jim Beam, you’re gonna
get nasty.”
“you henna your hair, don’t
you?”
“you don’t look,” she said and
stood up and pulled down her
slacks and panties and
the hair down there was the
same as the hair
up there.
Catullus himself couldn’t have wished
for more historic or
wondrous grace;
then he went
goofy
for tender boys
not mad enough
to become
women.
Other works by Charles Bukowski...
