hardly Nirvana

look, I asked the waiter, don’t you have
beer in a bottle?
no, he answered.
wait, I said, in a place as big as this
you mean you don’t have beer in a
bottle?
not the brand you asked for,
he responded.
but you do have other beers in a
bottle?
oh yes, he said.
then bring me one, I asked.
what kind?
any kind.
do you want me to take back the
glass of beer? he asked.
I’ll drink it, I told him.

he walked off to get my beer.
it was a cold December night.
I felt like punching somebody
out.

I watched a cruise ship slowly
navigate the harbor.
I drank my glass of beer.

the waiter was back with my
bottle of beer.

thanks much, I told
him.

so much for the freedom of
speech.
in the last bastion of the
bastards.

Sunday nights in San Pedro
aren’t very
much.

Author
Charles Bukowski
Written
1991
Source
Original manuscript