out of the blue

she phoned me from a far away
state.
“I could never argue with you,”
she told me,
“you’d just run out the door.
my husband’s not like that,
he sticks like glue.
he beats me.”

“I never believed in discussions,”
I said, “there’s nothing to
discuss.”

“you’re wrong,” she said, “you should
try to communicate.”

“‘communicate’ is an overused word like
‘love’,” I told her.

“but don’t you think two people can
‘love’?” she asked.

“not if they try to ‘communicate’,”
I answered.

“you’re talking like an asshole,”
she said.

“we’re having an argument,”
I said.

“no,” she said, “we’re trying to
communicate.”

“I’ve got to leave,” I said and hung
up, then took the phone off the
hook.

I looked at the phone.
what they didn’t understand was that
sometimes there was nothing to
save
except personal vindication of a
personal viewpoint
and that that was what was going to cause
that blinding white flash
one of these days.

Author
Charles Bukowski
Written
1983
Source
Original manuscript