Charles Bukowski

The Pleasures of the Damned


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drowning

      for five years I have been looking

       across the way

       at the side of a red apartment house.

       there must be people in there

       even love in there

       whatever that means.

      here blows a horn, there sounds a

       piano, and yesterday’s newspapers are as

       yellow as the grass.

       five years.

       a man can drown in five years,

       while the red bricks

       stand forever.

      I hear sounds now like dancing in the

       air

       great bladders of blood are being loosed in

       Mariposa Ave.

       sweat drenches my temple like beads on a

       cold beer can

       as armies fight in my head.

      I see a woman come out of the redbrick

       apartment house.

       she is fat and comfortable

       the slow horse of her body moves

       under a dress of pink carnations

       playing tricks with my better sense

       and now she is gone and

       the bricks look back at me

       the bricks with their

       windows and the windows look at me

       and a bird on a telephone wire looks

       and I feel naked as I

       try to forget all the good dead.

      a band plays wildly

       LOOKAWAY, LOOKAWAY,

       DIXIELAND!

       as they empty bladders of poison

       and bags of oranges over Mariposa Ave.

       and the cars run through them like poor snow

       and my pink woman comes back and I

       try to tell her

       wait! wait!

       don’t go back in there!

       but she goes inside as

       my bird flies away

       and it is just

       another hot evening in

       Los Angeles:

       some bricks, a mongoose or two, Chimera and

       disbelief.

      (uncollected)

       fooling Marie (the poem)

      he met her at the racetrack, a strawberry

       blonde with round hips, well-bosomed, long legs,

       turned-up nose, flower mouth, in a pink dress,

       wearing white high-heeled shoes.

       she began asking him questions about various

       horses while looking up at him with her pale blue

       eyes.

      he suggested the bar and they had a drink, then

       watched the next race together.

       he hit fifty-win on a sixty-to-one shot and she

       jumped up and down.

       then she whispered in his ear,

       “you’re the magic man! I want to fuck you!”

       he grinned and said, “I’d like to, but

       Marie … my wife …”

       she laughed, “we’ll go to a motel!”

      so they cashed the ticket, went to the parking lot,

       got into her car. “I’ll drive you back when

       we’re finished,” she smiled.

      they found a motel about a mile

       west. she parked, they got out, checked in, went to

       room 302.

       they had stopped for a bottle of Jack Daniel’s

       on the way. he stood and took the glasses out of the

       cellophane. as she undressed he poured two.

      she had a marvelous young body. she sat on the edge of

       the bed sipping at the Jack Daniel’s as he

       undressed. he felt awkward, fat and old

       but knew he was lucky: it promised to be his best day

       ever.

       then he too sat on the edge of the bed with her and

       his Jack Daniel’s. she reached over

       and grabbed him between the legs, bent over

       and went down on him.

      he pulled her under the covers and they played some more.

       finally, he mounted her and it was great, it was a

       miracle, but soon it ended, and when she

       went to the bathroom he poured two more drinks

       thinking, I’ll shower real good, Marie will never

       know.

      she came out and they sat in bed

       making small talk.

       “I’m going to shower now,” he told her,

       “I’ll be out soon.”

      “o.k., cutie,” she said.

      he soaped good in the shower, washing away all the

       perfume, the woman-smell.

      “hurry up, daddy!” he heard her say.

      “I won’t be long, baby!” he yelled from the

       shower.

      he got out, toweled off, then opened the bathroom

       door and stepped out.

       the motel room was empty.

       she was gone.

      on some impulse he ran to the closet, pulled the door

       open: nothing there but coat hangers.

      then he noticed that his clothes were gone, his underwear,

       his shirt, his pants with the car keys and his wallet,

       all the money, his shoes, his stockings, everything.

      on another impulse he looked under the bed.

       nothing.

      then he saw the bottle of Jack Daniel’s, half full,

       standing on the dresser.

       he walked over and poured a drink.

       as he did he saw the word scrawled on the dresser

       mirror in pink lipstick: SUCKER.

      he drank the whiskey, put the glass down and watched himself

       in the mirror, very fat, very tired, very old.

       he had no idea what to do next.

      he carried the whiskey, back to the bed, sat down,

       lifted the bottle and sucked at it as the light from the

       boulevard came in through the dusty blinds. then he just sat

       and looked out and watched the