a lady who wants to help

Bukowski, she says, sitting on the chair across
from me
her dress pulled up
around her fat legs
the varicose veins peeking at me
like little snakes
her dirty garter belt tugging against her
animosity
her fat   lips of heavy lipstick like
an animal mouth in the dream
her breasts like watery bags gone
mad with sagging

Bukowski, she says, you just think you
write great stuff but it’s all words like
shit and fuck   and cunt and piss and
puke!

then she leans back and lights a
cigarette
inhales
exhales a heavy blow of vile smoke
toward me
then   asks,
well?

I don’t think you’ve ever read my
stuff, I tell
her.

bullshit, she says, recrossing her
legs, now what I wanna do is to have you and I
write as a
partnership…

you mean, I ask, that you’ll clean up my shit
and rub my back with
yours?

exactly…

I think not, I tell
her.

well, fuck you then! she
screams.

thank god, I think, you
won’t.

Author
Charles Bukowski
Written
1986
Source
Original manuscript