garter belt

she was a big Jewish
woman with marvelous
flanks
and she showed them
with a disintegrating
grossness:
torn hose grasped by
a garter belt:
“Fuck you, Bukowski!
You can’t write worth
a shit!   Sex fuck fuck
and sex!   All that dirty
language!”

“You got any beer
left in the ice box?”

“‘Icebox’?   You see how
dated you are?   You
aren’t going to make
it, you just aren’t
going to make it!
My son can write
better than you!
keep telling him
that!”

you’re right, Claire:
I never made it
with you.  and your son
still has his head-
tick.   I got a postcard
from him today, I think,
from New Hampshire.
and he’s…
blazing.   so
were you.

and I’ll still give
3 to 2 that those
Jewish flanks above
that torn nylon
and that monumental
garter belt
is more immortal
than anything we
ever talked about
including
Shostakovich
now looking
face-up through
the ash and rain
drops dried.