I have a saying, “the tough ones always come
back.”
but Vera was kinder than most,
and so I was surprised when
she arrived that night
and said, “let me in.”
“no, no, I’m working on a sonnet.”
“I’ll just stay a minute, then I’ll
leave.”
“Vera, if I let you in you’ll be here
for 3 or 4 days.”
it was night and I hadn’t turned the
porch light on so I couldn’t see it
coming
but
she threw a right that
exploded in the center of my
chest.
“baby, that was a beautiful punch.
now move off.”
then I closed the door.
she was back again in 5 minutes:
“Hank, I can’t find my car, I
swear I can’t find my car. help
me find my car!”
I saw my friend Bobby-the-Riff
walking by. “hey, Bobby, help
this one find her car. we’ll
even it up later.”
they went off together.
later Bobby said they found her
car parked on somebody’s front
lawn, lights on and motor
running.
I haven’t heard from Vera
since
unless she’s the one
who keeps phoning at
2 and 3 and 4 a.m. in the
morning
and doesn’t answer when
I say “hello.”
but Bobby says he
can handle her
so I’ve decided to turn her over
to Bobby.
she lives on a side street somewhere
in Glendale
and I help him unfold the
roadmap as we sip our
diet Schlitz.
Other works by Charles Bukowski...
