dedication

well, it's xmas and after a 16-hour, door-to-door journey, i'm here in nanaimo in the cozy, soothing clutches of family indulgence. i could not be happier! : ) i feel calm and ...good. (the tears only sneak up once every other hour now, har har.) and my parents, bless their shiny hearts, bought me Bukowski's book of poems "love is a dog from hell" - i'm ecstatic. i told my mom i got a secret pleasure out of having that title at the top of my xmas wish list. she confided that when my dad heard the title, he said "our poor baby."

ok, enough of the mush.

reading through the book, i stumbled upon a poem i'd like to dedicate to jonathan. he's the guy i was fucking up until a couple of weeks ago. oh, i know he doesn't read my blog and will never know about this dedication. hell, he doesn't even speak to me though he's the one who was cold and ..well, cruel. a little bit anyway. whatever though... it hurts and it's confusing and it's a testament to my exceedingly bad taste in men, but ultimately it suits me fine. he's not the man i thought he was, so i don't feel a real need to have him in my life. but i read this and thought of him, and so i dedicate this to him...

turnabout
by charles bukowski

she drives into the parking lot while
I am leaning up against the fender of my car.
she's drunk and her eyes are wet with tears:
"you son of a bitch. you fucked me when you
didn't want to. you told me to keep phoning
you, you told me to move closer into town,
then you told me to leave you alone."

it's all quite dramatic and I enjoy it.
"sure, well, what do you want?"

"I want to talk to you, I want to go to your
place and talk to you..."

"I'm with somebody now. she's in getting a
sandwich."

"I want to talk to you... it takes a while
to get over things. I need more time."

"sure. wait until she comes out. we're not
inhuman. we'll all have a drink together."

"shit," she says, "oh shit!"

she jumps into her car and drives off.

the other one comes out: "who was that?"

"an ex-friend."




now she's gone and I'm sitting here drunk
and my eyes seem wet with tears.

it's very quiet and I feel like I have a spear
rammed into the center of my gut.

I walk to the bathroom and puke.

mercy, I think. doesn't the human race know anything
about mercy?