Big Night On The Town

Big Night On The Town

by Charles Bukowski

drunk on the dark streets of some city,
it's night, you're lost, where's your
room?
you enter a bar to find yourself,
order scotch and water.
damned bar's sloppy wet, it soaks
part of one of your shirt
sleeves.
It's a clip joint-the scotch is weak.
you order a bottle of beer.
Madame Death walks up to you
wearing a dress.
she sits down, you buy her a
beer, she stinks of swamps, presses
a leg against you.
the bar tender sneers.
you've got him worried, he doesn't
know if you're a cop, a killer, a
madman or an
Idiot.
you ask for a vodka.
you pour the vodka into the top of
the beer bottle.
It's one a.m. In a dead cow world.
you ask her how much for head,
drink everything down, it tastes
like machine oil.

you leave Madame Death there,
you leave the sneering bartender
there.

you have remembered where
your room is.
the room with the full bottle of
wine on the dresser.
the room with the dance of the
roaches.
Perfection in the Star Turd
where love died
laughing.

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Miscellany

Charles-bukowski


Other poems by Charles Bukowski (read randomly)


Jane, who has been dead for 31 years,
never could have
imagined that I would write a screenplay of our dri

each man must realize
that it can all disappear very
quickly:

it
takes
a lot of

I still get letters in the mail, mostly from cracke …
men in tiny rooms with factory jobs or no jobs who …
living with whores or no wom...

we like to shower afterwards
(I like the water hotter than she)
and her face is always soft and peaceful

he said, "I was working in Hollywood when Faulkner …
working in Hollywood and he was
the worst: he was too drunk to stand up at the

when I look back now
at the abuse I took from
her

she was hot, she was so hot
I didn't want anybody else to have her,
and if I didn't get home on time

I can't have it
and you can't have it
and we won't

I awaken about noon and go out to get the mail
in my old torn bathrobe.
I'm hung over

at high noon
at a small college near the beach
sober

a woman, a
tire that’s flat, a
disease, a

a symphony orchestra.
there is a thunderstorm,
they are playing a Wagner overture

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