Charles Bukowski




rift

“I can’t live with you anymore,
she said,
“look at you!”

“uuh?” I
asked.

“look at you!
sitting in that god
damned
chair!
your belly is sticking out
of your
underwear,
you’ve burnt cigaretteh
oles in all your
shirts!
all you do is suck
on that god damned
beer,
bottle after bottle,
what do you get out of
that?”

“the damage has been
done,” I told
her.“

what’re you talking
about?”

“nothing matters and
we know nothing matters
and that
matters . . .”

“you’re drunk!”

“come on, baby, let’s get
along, it’s
easy . . .”

“not for me!” she screamed,
“not for
me!”

she ran into the bathroom to
put on her
makeup.
I got up for another
beer.
I sat back down
just had the new bottle
to my mouth
when she came out of the
bathroom.

“holy shit!” she screamed,
“you’re
disgusting!”

I laughed right into the
bottle, gagged, spit a mouthful of
beer across my
undershirt.

“my god!” she
said.
she slammed the door and
was gone.

I looked at the closed door
and at the door
knob
and strangely
I didn’t feel
alone.