an importation

after the reading we went to her house, she had a large
house with an iron gate imported all the way from Spain
and the house was full of her beautiful daughters who
were smiling at me with their lips and their eyes and
their bodies but
they left
and I sat with the lady in her breakfastnook and we
drank and she showed me her book published in Europe
some years ago and I looked at the cover and flipped the
pages but I felt very unconcerned about ancient European
literature:   I had my money from the reading and a young
girl in a large house (hers) in L.A. was waiting for me

but
this lady was cultured or
once had been and
I enjoyed watching her smoke her long cigarettes and
putting on her act

and she told me that I could have my own bedroom that
night and I told her that was fine and we drank and
drank and she talked and later that night she showed me
my bedroom and she went off and I got under the covers
for a while
then
I got up
found her bedroom and got into bed with her and we did
that ordinary and everyday and everynight thing and then
we slept and the next morning

I walked through her imported Spanish gate and I took a
cab to the airport and I flew back to my young girl with
her large
house

a couple of weeks later we got a package in the mail from
this lady and the lady had enclosed her book which
had been published in Europe by this major press
some years back

she signed it “love” and asked in an enclosed letter
if I might get my editor to re-publish her book here in
America.

I read it
disliked it and
mailed it on to my editor.

that was eleven years ago, as yet my editor hasn’t
published that book
but here’s a poem about it:

not much, you see, maybe never should have been
written
except for the Spanish gate

I liked
it.

Author
Charles Bukowski
Written
1981