knew you were a bad-ass,” he said.
you sat in the back of Art class and
you never said anything.
then I saw you in that brutal fight
with the guy with the dirty yellow
hair.
like guys like you, you’re rare, you’re
raw, you make your own rules!”
get your fucking face out of mine!”
told him.
you see?” he said. “you see?”
he disgusted me.
turned and walked off.
he had outwitted me:
praise was the only thing I couldn’t
handle.
Other works by Charles Bukowski...
