smashed

look, I say, look at that house!
wouldn't that be a wonderful place to get
smashed in?
you always think that, she says, you think
everybody is sitting around getting
smashed.
and look at that place, I say, it has windows
like a church.   I bet they are sitting in there
smashed right now!
it isn't like that, she says.
I want to buy a place, I say, that I can get
smashed in.   just a little place with the front porch
falling in... 2 hungry German shepherds... paint peeling
from the boards.
get it then, she says, get it.
it's somewhere, I say, I know it's somewhere.

we drive on into my court after stopping at the
liquor store.   we have 4 bottles of white German
wine.   we will get smashed.

there's nothing like getting smashed
especially under the right circumstances.
I mean, while you're not feeling too
bad.

they are always calling the police on
me around here.

I want to get smashed in a place like William Randy
Hearst's old castle.
I want to go from great room to great room
crashing full bottles against walls,
free within my own doom.

here among the poor there is no understanding
of the need for my sounds and my ways.
they must sleep their nights
to have strength for their factory days
so they are very quick to phone the law
even though it would seem to me
that they need to get smashed more than
anybody.

and when we get in she says:
well, are we going to have a quiet night?

and I say, I don't know.
I'm going to get smashed.
Like this website? Support it.
I want to bring all of Bukowski's poems online and make then freely available. This means hundreds of hours of work to retype over 1,000 of his poems from the original manuscripts. Your donations will help support this work.