Another Day
Having the low down blues and going
into a restraunt to eat.
You sit at a table.
The waitress smiles at you.
She's dumpy. Her ass is too big.
She radiates kindess and symphaty.
Live with her 3 months and a man would no real agony.
O. k., you'll tip her 15 percent.
You order a turkey sandwich and a
beer.
The man at the table across from you
has watery blue eyes and
a head like an elephant.
At a table further down are 3 men
with very tiny heads
and long necks
like ostiches.
They talk loudly of land development.
Why, you think, did I ever come
in here when I have the low-down
blues?
Then the the waitress comes back eith the sandwich
and she asks you if there will be anything
else?
And you tell her, no no, this will be
fine.
Then somebody behind you laughs.
It's a cork laugh filled with sand and
broken glass.
You begin eating the sandwhich.
It's something.
It's a minor, difficult,
sensible action
like composing a popular song
to make a 14-year old
weep.
You order another beer.
Jesus, look at that guy
his hands hang down almost to his knees and he's
whistling.
Well, time to get out.
Pivk up the bill.
Tip.
Go to the register.
Pay.
Pick up a toothpick.
Go out the door.
Your car is still there.
And there are 3 men with heads
and necks
like ostriches all getting into one
car.
They each have a toothpick and now
they are talking about women.
They drive away first
they drive away fast.
They're best I guess.
It's an unberably hot day.
There's a first-stage smog alert.
All the birds and plants are dead
or dying.
You start the engine.
Charles Bukowski a Smile To Remember
We had goldfish and they circled around and around
in the bowl on the table near the heavy drapes
covering the picture window and
my mother, always smiling, wanting us all
to be happy, told me, "be happy Henry!"
And she was right: it's better to be happy if you
can
but my father continued to beat her and me several times a week while
raging inside his 6-foot-two frame because he couldn't
understand what was attacking him from within.
My mother, poor fish,
wanting to be happy, beaten two or three times a
week, telling me to be happy: 'Henry, smile!
Why don't you ever smile? '
And then she would smile, to show me how, and it was the
saddest smile I ever saw.
One day the goldfish died, all five of them,
they floated on the water, on their sides, their
eyes still open,
and when my father got home he threw them to the cat
there on the kitchen floor and we watched as my mother
smiled.
Quote images
Latest Added Topics
Comments