I awakened about 10:30 a.m.
Sunday morning
and I sat straight up in bed
and I said,
“o, Jesus Christ!”
and she said,
“what’s the matter, Hank?”
and I said, “it’s my car.   do you
remember where we parked last night?”
and she said,
“no, I don’t.”
and I said,
“well, there’s something strange about it.”
and I got dressed and went out on the street
and I didn’t know where the car was
and I walked up this street and down that
street and I couldn’t see it.
I get love affairs going with my cars
and the older they are and the longer I have them
the more I care.
this had been an ancient love.
–then three blocks to the west I saw it:
parked dead in the middle of a very narrow
street.   nobody could enter the street or leave it.
my car sat there calmly like a crazy tank.
I walked in, got in, put the key in, and it

there was no ticket.
I drove it around to my street and parked it

I walked back up the stairway and opened the
“well, is your car all right?” she asked.
“yeah, I found it,” I said, “it was…”
“you worry too much about that god damned car,”
she said, “did you bring any 7-up, any beer?”

I undressed and got into bed
turned my fat ass against her fat

Charles Bukowski
Original manuscript
This poem appeared in the following books: