In the betting line the other
day
man behind me asked,
“are you Henry
Chinaski?”

the goldfish sing all night with g
and the whores go down with the st
the whores go down with the stars
I’m sorry, sir, we close at 4:30,
besides yr mother’s neck is dirty,

They don’t make it
the beautiful die in flame—
suicide pills, rat poison, rope wh
ever...
they rip their arms off,

once
we were young
at this
machine. . .
drinking

It’s never quite right, he said, t
the way the music sounds, the way
written.
It’s never quite right, he said, a
taught, all the loves we chase, al

during my worst times
on the park benches
in the jails
or living with
whores

I reached up into the top of the c
and took out a pair of blue pantie
and showed them to her and
asked “are these yours?”

was a truly amazing man
he pretended to be
rich
even though we lived on beans and
when we sat down to eat, he said,

she’s young, she said,
but look at me,
I have pretty ankles,
and look at my wrists, I have pret
wrists

—he’s a dandy
—small moustache
—usually sucking on a cigar
he tends to lean into cars as he
transacts business