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letra de new mexico - charles bukowski

i was fairly drunk when it
began and i took out my bottle and used it
along the way. i was reading a week or two after
kandel and i did not look quite as
pretty but
i brought it off and we
ended up at the webbs, 6, 8, 10 of
us, and i drank scotch, wine, beer, tequila
and noticed a nice one sitting next to me –
one tooth missing when she smiled
lovely, and i put my arm around her
and began loading her with bullsh-t
when i awakened at 10 a.m. the next morning
i was in a strange house
in bed with this
woman. she was asleep but looked
familiar
i got up and here was one kid running around in a
crib and another one running around the floor in
pajamas. i picked up a letter addressed to one
“betsy r.”, so i went back and said
“hey, betsy, there are kids running around all over
this place.”
“oh hank, d-mn it, i’m sick. i want to sleep, not
rap.”
“but look, the …”
“make yourself some
coffee.”
i put the pot on and the little boy ran up in his
pajamas. i found a shirt and some pants and some
shoes and
dressed him
then i cleaned a bottle with hot water, filled it
with milk and gave it to the kid in the
crib. he went for
it
then i went in and squeezed her
hand. “i’ve got to go. are you all
right ?”
“yes, a little sick. but please don’t feel
bad.”
i called a yellow cab and we went back across
town
is this what happened to
d. thomas ? i thought
if a man didn’t think too much he could be proud of his little
conquests –
except that the women were better than we – asking nothing
as we squirted our poetry
our bullsh-t our
sperm to
them
we were sick poets sick
people
across town i knocked on the door of my host and
hostess
“what happened ?” they
asked
“nothing. got
lost.”
they sat a beer in front of me
and i drank it as if i were
wordly:
a piece-of–ss
any-night
anywhere
type
“somebody got a
cigarette ?” i asked
“sure, sure.”
i lit up and asked
“heard from creely
lately ?”
not giving a d-mn whether they had or
not

- charles bukowski

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