Читать книгу Essential Bukowski: Poetry - Чарльз Буковски, Abel Debritto - Страница 16

and the next I remembered I’m on a table,

everybody’s gone: the head of bravery

under light, scowling, flailing me down . . .

and then some toad stood there, smoking a cigar:

“Kid, you’re no fighter,” he told me,

and I got up and knocked him over a chair;

it was like a scene in a movie, and

he stayed there on his big rump and said

over and over: “Jesus, Jesus, whatsamatta wit

you?” and I got up and dressed,

the tape still on my hands, and when I got home

I tore the tape off my hands and

wrote my first poem,

and I’ve been fighting

ever since.