you go on in and the stereo’s going
they’re drinking and smoking and talking
they’re all young and slim
they know

the girls show breast and thigh
the men are contained
there’s no wild dancing no outward sex play
and even though the music is on it’s only a
minor signal.

the smoke comes around.   a child about 17 says
to you, “wanna fuck?”
“o, god,” you say, “I just masturbated twice
this afternoon…”
she walks over to a boy with tiny ringlets across
his forehead.   he is sitting in a chair and she
bends over and grabs his balls while wiggling her
ass to the music.   she is in a blue sheath gown,
hips and flanks of promise, her eyes are filled with

if I could stop whacking I’d enjoy parties more.

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