We walk the streets at a sluggish pace
taking the long way home
A drunken detour at the end of a day’s drinking
and drunken ramblings
It’s still light outside
and the night is only starting for most people
With arms hanging limply around one another
we reassure each-other that we’re ok
when really we only want each-other because we
both know we can’t do any better
and we laugh desperately
drunkenly
ugly
She sees me as a consolation
because I remind her that there are people just
as pathetic as her in this world
She has to be a mess
and so must I
it wouldn’t work any other way because I am the last authentic gutter poet
I AM CHARLES BUKOWSKI
all those other kids are impostors
but I’m real
I live the hard life
and we’ll probably go back to mine
and have another three bottles of red wine
and then we’ll fuck like animals
I’ll comment on her chunky manly thighs
and slap her on the back and call her a whore
and she’ll say something about my big hairy belly
and huge ugly balls
and then when it’s done I’ll turn cold and tell her to go home
(‘cos that’s the kind of guy I am)
and then I’ll sit in my poorly lit room
and write poems about it
referring to her as ‘that dirty whore’
while chain-smoking over my typewriter
and I’ll write these simple beastly poems
that every man can read
because I am everyman
I’m just like you and the next guy along
and I hate people
not because I think I’m better than them
but because I’m an arsehole and I know I am
that’s just the kind of guy I am
I live rough
I look bad
I’m scruffy
I don’t shave for days
even weeks
and I’m always in a mood
I have no time for people
and I scratch my arse when I wake up in the morning and have a beer
BECAUSE I’M THE REAL CHARLES BUKOWSKI
The next day I might go to the racetrack and make some money
and maybe drive my car around some bars for the day
and get into a fight
or a conversation with some whore
except I don’t know where the track is in this city
or if there even is one
and besides I don't even drive
and even if there was one I wouldn’t go
because I get bored at those places
and I wouldn’t know what to do
and don’t like betting on horses anyway
I much prefer card games
I’d probably feel out of place
and wouldn’t make small chat with anyone
because I don’t have anything to do with these people
I’m not a working-man
or an everyman
or any-man
I’m more of a no-man
a simple
boring
no-one
But that doesn’t matter
‘cos I’m still the real thing
and I’m dirty
and I’m mean
got no time for in-between
I’m the real deal
I’ll smash your skull
and then I’ll write about it
BECAUSE I AM THE REAL CHARLES BUKOWSKI
