Like All The Years Wasted
yesterday drunken Alice
gave me
a jar of fig jam
and today she
whistles
for her cat
but
he will not
come—
he is with the horses at a
tub of beer
or
in room 21
at the Crown Hill
Hotel
or he is at the Crocker
Citizens National
Bank
or
he arrived in
New York City at
5:30 p.m.
with paper suitcase
and
$7.
next to Alice
in her yard
a paper goose
walks
upside down
on a carton that says:
California
Oranges.
drunken Alice whistles.
no good. no good.
work slowly.
everybody tries hard
but the
gods.
Alice goes in for a
drink, comes
out.
whistles again
all the way to a
park bench in
El Paso—
and her love comes
running out of the
bushes
bright-eyed as
a color film
and not waiting
for
Monday.
we go in
together.
Other works by Charles Bukowski...
