trouble with spain

I got in the shower

and burned my balls

last Wednesday.

met this painter called Spain,

no, he was a cartoonist,

well, I met him at a party

and everybody got mad at me

because I didn’t know who he was

or what he did.

he was rather a handsome guy

and I guess he was jealous because

I was so ugly.

they told me his name

and he was leaning against the wall

looking handsome, and I said:

hey, Spain, I like that name: Spain.

but I don’t like you. why don’t we step out

in the garden and I’ll kick the shit out of your

ass?

this made the hostess angry

and she walked over and rubbed his pecker

while I went to the crapper

and heaved.

but everybody's angry at me.

Bukowski, he can’t write, he’s had it.

washed-up. look at him drink.

he never used to come to parties.

now he comes to parties and drinks everything

up and insults real talent.

I used to admire him when he cut his wrists

and when he tried to kill himself with

gas. look at him now leering at that 19 year old

girl, and you know he

can’t get it up.

I not only burnt my balls in that shower

last Wednesday, I spun around to get out of the burning

water and burnt my bunghole

too.

Copyright Credit: "trouble with spain" from Burning in Water, Drowning in Flame: Selected Poems 1955-1973 by Charles Bukowski. Copyright © 1963, 1964, 1965, 1966, 1967, 1968, 1974 by Charles Bukowski. Reprinted by permission of HarperCollins Publishers.

Source: Burning in Water Drowning in Flame: Selected Poems 1955-1973 (HarperCollins Publishers Inc, 1996)