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