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some picnic

which reminds me
I shacked with Jane for 7 years
she was a drunk
I loved her
 
my parents hated her
I hated my parents
we made a nice
foursome
 
one day we went on a picnic
together
up in the hills
and we played cards and drank beer and
ate potato salad
 
they treated her as if she were a living person
at last
 
everybody laughed
I didn’t laugh.
later at my place
over the whiskey
I said to her,
I don’t like them
but it’s good they treated you
nice.
 
you damn fool, she said,
don’t you see?
see what?
 
they kept looking at my beer-belly,
they think I’m pregnant.
 
oh, I said, well here’s to our beautiful
child.
 
here’s to our beautiful child,
she said.
 
we drank them down.
Other works by Charles Bukowski...



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