problems

I go to this place to get a
foot rub down to
release the
toxins.
the masseur has good
hands,
gets to talking.
well, it’s about his bad
experiences with
women.
they ask him for
money.
he has a good
heart.
he gives it to them
but they won’t give
him
any
snatch.
been married
twice, shacked
once.
shack lasted two and
one half
years.
she got more and more
negative.
every time she
opened her mouth it
was something
critical.
kind of like having
poisoned darts
shot at you
night and day.

“how you doing with
the ladies?” he
asks.

“about the same.”

“am I putting too much
pressure there?”

“yeah, you’re just about
killing me…”

“that’s your
liver…”

he works away and
talks away.
we are on
Avenida del Norte in
the Hollywood Riviera.
it is a 3 p.m.
Tuesday
and I haven’t written
anything decent
in a couple
of weeks.

“I recently met this
Chinese wench,” he
says, “and…”

“OW!   CHRIST!”

“that’s your
pancreas,” he
says.

“thanks,” I tell
him, “move over to
the kidneys…”

Author
Charles Bukowski
Written
1982