lousy mail

a long letter from a woman
who says she lives on this Pacific
island and fucks the
native boys
who give her various pills and
potions.

the rain comes through her
roof and falls on her face and
her toes.

she tells me the names of
some of the native
boys.

she says she reads Hesse,
Hansum and Hemingway.

but she doesn’t say a
god damned thing about
what a great writer I
am.

I think, this woman is
going to catch some
horrible tropical sex
disease.

then I trash her
letter.

Author
Charles Bukowski
Written
1985
Source
Original manuscript