Toca el piano borracho como un instrumento de percusión hasta que los dedos te empiecen a sangrar un poco by Charles Bukowski

a
    five.
    “how was it, Marty?”
    “not bad. she’s got… some fine
    movements.”
    “hit me!” I said. “nice clean girl. I ride it myself.”
    nobody said
    anything.
    “any big fires lately?” I
    asked.
    “naw. nothin’
    much.”
    “you guys need
    exercise. hit me
    again!”
    a big red-headed kid who had been shining an
    engine
    threw down his rag and
    went upstairs.
    when he came down he threw me a
    five.
    when the 4th guy came down I gave him
    3 fives for a
    twenty.
    I don’t know how many firemen
    were in the building or where they
    were. I figured a few had slipped by me
    but I was a good
    sport.
    it was getting dark outside
    when the alarm
    rang.
    they started running around.
    guys came sliding down the
    pole.
    then she came sliding down the
    pole. she was good with the
    pole. a real woman. nothing but guts
    and
    ass.
    “let’s go,” I told
    her.
    she stood there waving goodbye to the
    firemen but they didn’t seem
    much interested
    any more.
    “let’s go back to the
    bar,” I told
    her.
    “ooh, you got
    money?”
    “I found some I didn’t know I
    had…”
    we sat at the end of the bar
    with whiskey and beer
    chaser.
    “I sure got a good
    sleep.”
    “sure, baby, you need your
    sleep.”
    “look at that sailor looking at me!
    he must think I’m a… a…”
    “naw, he don’t think that. relax, you’ve got
    class, real class. sometimes you remind me of an
    opera singer. you know, one of those prima d’s.
    your class shows all over
    you. drink
    up.”
    I ordered 2
    more.
    “you know, daddy, you’re the only man I
    LOVE! I mean, really… LOVE! ya
    know?”
    “sure I know. sometimes I think I am a king
    in spite of myself.”
    “yeah. yeah. that’s what I mean, somethin like
    that.”
    I had to go to the urinal. when I came back
    the sailor was sitting in my
    seat. she had her leg up against his and
    he was talking.
    I walked over and got in a dart game with
    Harry the Horse and the corner
    newsboy.

an argument over Marshal Foch
    Foch was a great soldier, he said, Marshal Foch;
    listen, I said, if you don’t keep it clean
    I’ll have to slap you across the face with
    wet towel.
    I’ll write the governor, he said.
    the governor is my uncle, I said.
    Marshal Foch was my
    grandfather, he said.
    I warned you, I said. I’m a
    gentleman.
    And I’m a Foch, he said.
    that did it. I slapped him with a wet towel.
    he grabbed the phone.
    governor’s mansion, he said.
    I slapped a wet rubber glove down
    his mouth and cut the wire.
    outside the crickets were chirping like
    mad: Foch, Foch, Foch, Foch!
    they chirped.
    I got out my sub-machine gun and blasted
    the devils
    but there were so many of them
    I had to give up.
    I pulled the wet rubber glove out.
    I surrender, I said, it’s too much:
    I can’t change the world.
    all the so-called ladies in the room
    applauded.
    he stood up and bowed gallantly as
    outside the crickets chirped.
    I put on my hat
    and stalked out. I still maintain
    the French are weak
    and no
    wonder.

40 cigarettes
    I smoked 2 packs of cigarettes today and
    my tongue feels like a
    caterpillar trying to get out for
    rainwater
    somebody is working over
    Pictures at an Exhibition
    while tiny pimples of sweat
    work their way down my
    fat sides.
    too sick today and told the man
    over the phone
    it was stomach pains.
    the pains in the ass too and
    the soul?
    the gophers are underground
    staring at pictures on mudwalls
    machineguns are mounted in the
    windows.
    40 cigarettes.
    what’s walking around
    chewing grass,
    4 legs, no
    hands?
    it’s not the
    politburo.
    it could be a
    donkey. how’d you like to be in a
    donkey’s head for a
    while? your body in a donkey’s
    body? you’d only last
    ten minutes
    they’d have to let you
    out
    you’d be so
    scared
    but who’s going to
    let you out of that
    dismal bluepurple notion
    of what you are
    now? and I’m the one who’s
    scared.

a killer gets ready
    he was a good one
    say 18, 19,
    a marine
    and everytime
    a woman came