TALKING ABOUT $$$$$$.
(On rewatching «Born Into This» — a Bukowski documentary by Barbet Schroeder / 2003):
«His Women His Party His Price» by Wanda Coleman
(known as «The L.A. Blueswoman»)
it was another great party
plenty of literary hangers–on at the ol’ timers
waiting for the clown show to jump off
a little lightweight repartee
jokes as old as grandma moses and beer, plenty beer
me in my wig hat, leotards and jeans
high heel sandals, checkin’ out some gray boys
checkin’ out the action
the ol’ timer is swilling beer and spewing curses
he’s been watching his lover, the curlicious blonde cowgirl
flirt with a hot aryan range rider
he’s with it. He throws a bottle of beer
against the nearest wall. there are squeals
of delight. the party has started
and now his curses are louder and she boots over …
«THE CAR’S BEGINNING TO LOOK LIKE ME …»
… to calm him down with no success and now everybody
spills out of the kitchen, bathroom and bedroom to watch
«hey» a fat young dilettante yelps,
spilling beer on his belly, «the ol’ man’s at it again»
i figure it’s time to split, go home to watts
my friend bonnie who invited me to this farce
say adios and then slip out the front door.
The man’s disappeared. when i get to the
driveway on the slope of the hill, i see him in his volks.
the ignition is whining. it won’t start.
he looks sad. he looks frightened. he’s drunk.
«hey, ol’ man, you can’t get out,
you’re parked in,» i yell as i saunter past
on my way to my pinto.
the ignition stops. i look back
he’s slumped over the wheel
a man in severe pain. a man bawlin’