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- Чарльз Буковски
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- Стр. 232/501
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I
sat
down
,
adjusted
the
mike
,
and
started
on
the
first
poem
.
It
became
quiet
.
I
was
in
the
ring
alone
with
the
bull
now
.
I
felt
some
terror
.
But
I
had
written
the
poems
.
I
read
them
out
.
It
was
best
to
open
up
light
,
a
poem
of
mockery
.
I
finished
it
and
the
walls
rocked
.
Four
or
five
people
were
fighting
during
the
applause
.
I
was
going
to
luck
out
.
All
I
had
to
do
was
hang
in
there
.
You
couldn
’
t
underestimate
them
and
you
couldn
’
t
kiss
their
ass
.
There
was
a
certain
middle
ground
to
be
achieved
.
I
read
more
poems
,
drank
the
beer
.
I
got
drunker
.
The
words
were
harder
to
read
.
I
missed
lines
,
dropped
poems
on
the
floor
.
Then
I
stopped
and
just
sat
there
drinking
.
"
This
is
good
,
"
I
told
them
,
"
you
pay
to
watch
me
drink
.
"
I
made
an
effort
and
read
them
some
more
poems
.
Finally
I
read
them
a
few
dirty
ones
and
wound
it
up
.
"
That
’
s
it
,
"
I
said
.
They
yelled
for
more
.
The
boys
at
the
slaughterhouse
,
the
boys
at
Sears
Roebuck
,
all
the
boys
at
all
the
warehouses
where
I
worked
as
a
kid
and
as
a
man
never
would
have
believed
it
.
In
the
office
there
were
more
drinks
and
several
fat
joints
,
bombers
.
Marty
got
on
the
intercom
to
find
out
about
the
gate
.
Tammie
stared
at
Marty
.
"
I
don
’
t
like
you
,
"
she
said
.
"
I
don
’
t
like
your
eyes
at
all
.
"
