I’ve come by, she says, to tell you
that this is it. I’m not kidding, it’s
over. this is it.
I sit on the couch watching her arrange
her long red hair before my bedroom

mirror. she pulls her hair up and
piles it on top of her head-
she lets her eyes look at my eyes-
then she drops her hair and
lets it fall down in front of her face.
we go to bed and I hold her

speechlessly from the back
my arm around her neck
I touch her wrists and hands
feel up to her elbows no further.
she gets up. this is it, she says,
this will do. well, I’m going.
I get up and walk her
to the door

just as she leaves she says,
I want you to buy me
some high-heeled shoes
with tall thin spikes,
black high-heeled shoes.
no, I want them red.
I watch her walk down the cement walk
under the trees

she walks all right and
as the pointsettas drip in the sun
I close the door.
-Eat Your Heart Out, Charles Bukowski