The Squalid Number

I used the title "The Squalid Number" because an English gentlemen used the term when describing "The Life of Brian" to John Cleese during an interview. It's fun to say; sounds like a Victorian horror story; and has a great meaning (a dirty/unpleasant bit of info/material).

It has nothing to do with this post. 

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In this post, I will provide you with a Bukowski video that (I think) everyone should watch (Tom Waits is reading this one). Then, I will attempt to reach you with poesy of my own. Behold!

The Laughing Heart

Now, it's my turn...

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Wanda

The first girl I ever kissed

when I was 8 years old

is wanted for manufacturing 

and dealing

in my home town.

Judging by her mugshot

(from an arrest a year ago),

it was a more serious chemical this time.

Back them,

she was cute

and shy.

A rose of promise.

Her father was gone,

but her mother would beat her 

with one of his belts

on a regular basis.

Her brother was overbearing

and over-protective.

There was no neck tattoo back then.

No luggage under her lids.

No scar on her left cheek.

She was as pure,

and as tan 

as untouched

Puerto Rican 

sand

along Arecibo.

We were building Lego castles

in the toy room

of my old house

when she leaned it,

and I felt the softness

of the opposite sex

for the first time

upon my lips. 

"If you tell anyone, I'll kill you,"

She said with a smile,

before strolling down Chestnut street

unguarded,

back to Lebanon's own 

little Barrio

on the other side 

of the train tracks. 

It looks like she's been there ever since.

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~Torres