national poetry month, day 7.

This really ought to be read aloud, preferably while smoking a cigarette. But there are limits to this medium, so you'll have to do your own reading and smoking.

the price

by Charles Bukowski

drinking 15 dollar champagne--

Cordon Rouge--with the hookers.

one is named Georgia and she

doesn't like pantyhose:

I keep helping her pull up

her long dark stockings.

the other is Pam--prettier

but not much soul,

we smoke and talk and I 

play with their legs and

stick my bare foot into 

Georgia's open purse.

it's filled with

bottles of pills. I 

take some of the pills.

"listen," I say, "one of 

you has soul, the other

looks, can't I combine

the 2 of you? take the soul

and stick it into the looks?"

"you want me," says Pam, "it

will cost you a  hundred."

we drink some more and Georgia

falls to the floor and can't

get up.

I tell Pam that I like her

earrings very much, her

hair is long and a natural

red.

"I was only kidding about the

hundred," she says.

"oh," I say, "what will it cost

me?"

she lights her cigarette with

my lighter and looks at me

through the flame:

her eyes tell me.

"look," I say, "I don't think I

can ever pay that price again."

she crosses her legs

inhales on her cigarette

as she exhales she smiles

and says, "sure you can."