nobody goes downtown anymore
the plants and trees have been cut away around
Pershing Square
the grass is brown
and the street preachers are not as good
as they used to be
and down on Broadway
the Latinos stand in long colorful lines
waiting to see Latino action movies.
walk down to Clifton’s cafeteria
it’s still there
the waterfall is still there
the few white faces are old and poor
dignified
dressed in 1950s clothing
sitting at small tables on the first
floor.
take my food upstairs to the
third floor—
all Latinos at the tables there
faces more tired than hostile
the men at rest from their factory jobs
their once beautiful wives now
heavy and satisfied
the men wanting badly to go out and raise hell
but now the money is needed for
clothing, tires, toys, TV sets
children’s shoes, the rent.
finish eating
walk down to the first floor and out,
and nearby is a penny arcade.
remember it from the 1940s.
walk in.
is full of young Latinos and Blacks
between the ages of six and
fifteen
and they shoot machine guns
play mechanical soccer
and the piped-in salsa music is very
loud.
they fly spacecraft
test their strength
fight in the ring
have horse races
auto races
but none of them want their fortunes told.
lean against a wall and
watch them.
go outside again.
walk down and across from the Herald–
Examiner building
where my car is parked.
get in. then I drive away.
it’s Sunday. and it’s true
like they say: the old gang never
goes downtown anymore.
Other works by Charles Bukowski...
