unemployed and shacking

fight we would
and I’d tell her
we’re out of drinks now
I’m broke
you’ve got your cunt
you can go out and get some more drinks
I can sit here looking at these god damned walls

you mean there’s no more to drink?

but shit
you live here with me

I hate you

she would leave
she would grab her purse and be gone

I’d go around sipping
I’d sip at almost-empty bottles and cans
I’d look under the bed and couch for more

at times like that you get to know a hotel room well
you look at the venetian blinds and the hotplate
you look at a newspaper on the rug
the page looks at you and reads the same way over and over

a room like that gets to feeling better than a woman
it becomes something you can leave

but she comes back
it begins over again

she asks
why are you so mean?

did you know something?
it’s about those who keep asking the questions
they really don’t want to hear the answers.

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