The Pleasures of the Damned. Charles BukowskiЧитать онлайн книгу.

       schoolyards of forever

      the schoolyard was a horror show: the bullies, the

       freaks

       the beatings up against the wire fence

       our schoolmates watching

       glad that they were not the victim;

       we were beaten well and good

       time after time

       and afterwards were

       followed

       taunted all the way home where often

       more beatings awaited us.

      in the schoolyard the bullies ruled well,

       and in the restrooms and

       at the water fountains they

       owned and disowned us at will

       but in our own way we held strong

       never begged for mercy

       we took it straight on

       silently

       we were toughened by that horror

       a horror that would later serve us in good stead

       and then strangely

       as we grew stronger and bolder

       the bullies gradually began to back off.

       grammar school

       jr. high

       high school

       we grew up like odd neglected plants

       gathering nourishment where we could

       blossoming in time

       and later when the bullies tried to befriend us

       we turned them away.

      then college

       where under a new regime

       the bullies melted almost entirely away

       we became more and they became much less.

      but there were new bullies now

       the professors

       who had to be taught the hard lessons we’d learned

       we glowed madly

       it was grand and easy

       the coeds dismayed at our gamble

       and our nerve

       but we looked right through them

       to the larger fight waiting out there.

      then when we arrived out there it was back up against the fence new bullies once again deeply entrenched by society bosses and the like who kept us in our place for decades to come so we had to begin all over again in the street and in small rooms of madness rooms that were always dim at noon it lasted and lasted for years like that but our former training enabled us to endure and after what seemed like an eternity we finally found the tunnel at the end of the light.

      it was a small enough victory

       no songs of braggadocio because

       we knew we had won very little from very little,

       and that we had fought so hard to be free

       just for the simple sweetness of it.

      but even now we still can see the grade school janitor

       with his broom

       and sleeping face;

       we can still see the little girls with their curls

       their hair so carefully brushed and shining

       in their freshly starched dresses;

      see the faces of the teachers

       fat folded forlorn;

      hear the bell at recess;

       see the grass and the baseball diamond;

       see the volleyball court and its white net;

       feel the sun always up and shining there

       spilling down on us like the juice of a giant tangerine.

      and we did not soon forget

       Herbie Ashcroft

       our principal tormentor

       his fists as hard as rocks

       as we crouched trapped against the steel fence

       as we heard the sounds of automobiles passing but not stopping

       and as the world went about doing what it does

       we asked for no mercy

       and we returned the next day and the next and the next

       to our classes

       the little girls looking so calm and secure

       as they sat upright in their seats

       in that room of blackboards and chalk

       while we hung on grimly to our stubborn disdain

       for all the horror and all the strife

       and waited for something better

       to come along and comfort us

       in that never-to-be-forgotten

       grammar school world.