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she’s not for you, man,
she’s not your type,
she’s erased
she’s been used
she’s got all the wrong
habits,
he told me
in between races.
 
I’m going to bet the 4
horse, I told him.
well, it’s only that I’d
like to turn her around
in mid-stream,
save her, you might say.
 
you can’t save her, he said,
you’re 55, you need kindness.
I’m going to bet the 6 horse.
you’re not the one to save
her.
 
who can save her? I asked.
I don’t think the 6 has a
chance, I like the 4.
 
she needs somebody to beat her
from wall to wall, he said,
kick her ass, she’d love
it. She’d stay home and
wash the dishes.
 
the 6 horse will be in
the running.
 
I’m no good at beating women,
I said.
forget her then, he said.
 
it’s hard to, I said.
 
he got up and bet the 6
and I got up and bet the 4.
the 5 horse won
by 3 lengths
at 15 to one.
 
she’s got red hair
like lightning from heaven,
I said.
 
forget her, he said.
 
we tore up our tickets
and stared at the lake
in the center of the track.
 
it was going to be
a long afternoon
for both of us.
Other works by Charles Bukowski...



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