Читать книгу Come On In! - Charles Bukowski - Страница 23

it’s unholy.

I appear to be

lost. I walk from room to room and

there aren’t many (2 or 3)

and she is in the dark room

snoring, I can’t see her but her

mouth is open and her hair is gray

poor thing

and she doesn’t mean me harm

least of all

does she mean me

harm,

and in the other room are

pink lips pink ears

on a head like a cabbage

and a child’s blocks on the floor like

leprosy

and she also doesn’t mean me any harm at

all,

but I cannot sleep and I sit in the kitchen

with a big black fly

that goes around and around and around

like a piece of snot grown a

heart,

and I am puzzled and not given to

cruelty (I’d like to think)

and I sit with the fly

under this yellow light

and we smoke a cigar and drink beer

and share the calendar with a frightened cat:

“ katzen-unsere hausfrende: 1965.”

I am a poor father because I want to stay alive as a

man but perhaps I never was a

man.

I suck on the cigar and suddenly the fly is gone

and there are just

the 3 of us

here.