Charles Bukowski

(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994 / Andernach)

Eat Your Heart Out - Poem by Charles Bukowski

I've come by, she says, to tell you
that this is it. I'm not kidding, it's
over. this is it.
I sit on the couch watching her arrange
her long red hair before my bedroom
mirror.
she pulls her hair up and
piles it on top of her head-
she lets her eyes look at
my eyes-
then she drops her hair and
lets it fall down in front of her face.
we go to bed and I hold her
speechlessly from the back
my arm around her neck
I touch her wrists and hands
feel up to
her elbows
no further.
she gets up.
this is it, she says,
this will do. well,
I'm going.
I get up and walk her
to the door
just as she leaves
she says,
I want you to buy me
some high-heeled shoes
with tall thin spikes,
black high-heeled shoes.
no, I want them
red.
I watch her walk down the cement walk
under the trees
she walks all right and
as the pointsettas drip in the sun
I close the door.


Comments about Eat Your Heart Out by Charles Bukowski

  • Rookie Marcy Jarvis (10/3/2005 9:42:00 AM)

    I-want, I-want-Charles-In-Charge-of-me (Report) Reply

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Read poems about / on: hair, mirror, red, heart, sun, tree



Poem Submitted: Monday, January 13, 2003



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