Charles Bukowski

(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994 / Andernach)

The Great Slob - Poem by Charles Bukowski

I was always a natural slob
I liked to lay upon the bed
in undershirt (stained, of
course) (and with cigarette
holes)
shoes off
beerbottle in hand
trying to shake off a
difficult night, say with a
woman still around
walking the floor
complaining about this and
that,
and I'd work up a
belch and say, "HEY, YOU DON'T
LIKE IT? THEN GET YOUR ASS
OUT OF HERE!"

I really loved myself, I
really loved my slob-
self, and
they seemed to also:
always leaving
but almost
always
coming
back.


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Read poems about / on: woman, work, night, women



Poem Submitted: Friday, January 3, 2003



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