Charles Bukowski

(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994 / Andernach)

Three Oranges - Poem by Charles Bukowski

first time my father overheard me listening to
this bit of music he asked me,
"what is it?"
"it's called Love For Three Oranges,"
I informed him.
"boy," he said, "that's getting it
cheap."
he meant sex.
listening to it
I always imagined three oranges
sitting there,
you know how orange they can
get,
so mightily orange.
maybe Prokofiev had meant
what my father
thought.
if so, I preferred it the
other way
the most horrible thing
I could think of
was part of me being
what ejaculated out of the
end of his
stupid penis.
I will never forgive him
for that,
his trick that I am stuck
with,
I find no nobility in
parenthood.
I say kill the Father
before he makes more
such as
I.


Comments about Three Oranges by Charles Bukowski

  • (11/17/2004 7:00:00 PM)


    hhhhmmmm...i think charles is very angry about something...great poem (Report) Reply

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Read poems about / on: father, music, time



Poem Submitted: Monday, January 13, 2003

Poem Edited: Thursday, April 28, 2011


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