thoughts on an evening when grey walls breathe and huff

feet on the windowsill as two
blue eyes   look at me and the
Chinese wait for Russia and
America to dance the H-bomb
fandango
while the Arabs blow millions
at Vegas and take our young
girls to ski resorts.
I’ve got two cousins I can’t
find and an aunt and uncle in
Palm Springs who have disowned
me
and Chubby Checker is making a
comeback.

hasn’t been a roach in here in
weeks
or a woman either.

pace, that’s what counts.   the
beat.
I almost cream when Dylan sucks
his saliva in and out of that
harmonica.   –which reminds me
of Veronica Lake.

when you realize that Mrs. O’Leary’s
cow is more famous than Sibelious
you can easily understand why the
bums stretch under moss-dripping
bridges and suck on cans of sterno
like milk from the biggest tit ex-
isting.

Author
Charles Bukowski
Written
1975
Source
Original manuscript
This poem appeared in the following books: