Charles Bukowski — Thinking

Eighteen cars full of men, thinking of what could've been Driving in from the track I saw a woman in green All rump and breasts and dizziness running across the street She was as sexy as a green and drunken antelope And when she got to the curbing she tripped and fell down And sat in the gutter I sat there in my car looking at her and oddly, I felt most impassive As if nothing had happened, I sat there looking at this green creature Until a moving van sixty feet long came to a stop, and helped the lady up A young man in white overalls, flushed red And the girl was built, all around, all around And stupid with falling and stupid with life And swaying on the tower stilts of her high heels She stood there rubbing her white knees And the young man kept talking to her He was big, dumb, blond, pink, and lonely But then the woman asked him where the nearest bar was And he grinned and pointed down the street and gave it up He got back in the truck, sixty feet full of furniture and blanket and stove Pulled on down the street, and the green antelope crossed the street toward the bar Wobbling and shaking, shaking and wobbling, everything And we sat transfixed and watching until into the backed up traffic behind me A man of strength honked, honked, he honked several times And I put the thing in drive, slowing for the big dip by the market that could tear your car in half And they all followed me, slowing for the dip too Eighteen cars full of men, thinking of what could've been About the one who got away It was sunsets, and heavy traffic and heavy life