Читать книгу The Pleasures of the Damned - Charles Bukowski - Страница 23

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harbor freeway south

the dead dogs of nowhere bark

as you approach another

traffic accident.

3 cars

one standing on its

grill

the other 2 laying

on their sides

wheels turning slowly.

3 of them

at rest:

strange angles

in the dark.


it has just

happened.

I can see the still

bodies

inside.

these cars

scattered like toys

against the freeway

center

divider.

like spacecraft

they have landed

there

as you

drive past.

there’s no

ambulance yet

no police

cars.

the rain began

15 minutes

ago.

things occur.

volcanoes are

1500 times more

powerful than

the first a-

bomb.

the dead dogs of

nowhere

those dogs keep

barking.

those cars

there like that.

obscene.

a dirty trick.

it’s like

somebody dying

of a heart

attack

in a crowded

elevator

everybody

watching.

I finally

reach my street

pull into

the driveway.

park.

get out.

she meets me

halfway

to the door.

“I don’t know

what to do,”

she says, “the

stove

went out.”

The Pleasures of the Damned

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