Mean Ugly Bagel Woman

By Poetic-Realm

It was about 7 in the morning,
I hadn't showered, hardly slept,
but there I was at this bagel shop
buying a sausage and egg
bagel sandwich thing
and a coffee.

The woman taking my order didn't
like me, I could tell, though
I wasn't really sure why.
Maybe because it was early
and I looked like a tweaker,
maybe it was the fact
that I had dirty shoes
and ragged clothing,
but a new age cellphone.

I wanted to say,
"my dad pays for it,
so all my family can find me
because I have a tendency
to fall off the face of the Earth
when the moment strikes."
but I knew it wouldn't fix anything.
Tweaker to freeloader
doesn't really change much,
not to a hard working business owner.

She was older, a big mean tough lady,
with wrinkles that looked like scars,
and scars that looked like wrinkles.
She saw me all scrawny and hungry,
she knew I had already been beaten.

But I carried on reading
"Run with the Hunted"
a collection of Charles Bukowski,
paying no mind to the group
of older gentlemen talking about
fishing or politics or their wives.

When my food was ready,
I was already near done with my coffee,
but I ate it all in no time
and struggled with the bits that were too dry.
The reading kept me forgetting,
that the food was poorly made.

Something happened though,
the woman's gaze and ratty face
lit up when I would look over.
I couldn't quite understand the slight
tint of the smile, couldn't name it.

Not until I left did I realize it,
"She saw I was reading Bukowski,
and she must have known,
that my scrawny body
and pretty boy face
has dirt under it's nails
and a fire in my belly."

I left aware that the ugly,
mean ones
more often than not,
know when a real human
has a real fire.

I left, drove to the other side of town
through traffic and
jaywalking, teenage pedestrians
on their way to high school.

I made my way to the waiting room
at a free clinic in the glum slums
of 6th street.

There was an old couple next to me
the old man seemed more lively
than I, and he had this coffee mug
that said, "Old Guys Rule"
on it. I wanted to
know him, I wanted
to ask what was so great
about ruling anything.

This woman is talking
on her phone, and ironically
she sat right below
the sign that said,
"As a courtesy to patients and
staff, please take all phonecalls
outside." I didn't blame her though.
It was loud enough already, and
if her name was called while
she was out, there was a chance
that she would miss her appointment.

I read and read and read.
The old great ones,
the new that I had never found
and I felt alive even though my body
felt like it was dying.

My name was called
after three hours
the underpaid doctor
did underpaid work
I took my prescription,
lit up a cigarette,
and left with the pride
of an old tore up woman
silently welcoming my existence
as I nodded to hers.

And nothing important
found me there,
and that was the most
important thing.

Unauthorized Copying Is Prohibited. Ask the author first.
Copyright 2013 Poetic-Realm
Published on Sunday, April 7, 2013.     Filed under: "Reflective" and "Poetry"

Author's Note:

I live in San Pedro, Bukowski's got a lot of history here, for those wondering why she cared.
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Comments on "Mean Ugly Bagel Woman"

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  • A former member wrote: That was almost like reading a novel, though someone once said though I can't remember who - "A novel is good words in a good order, and poem is the best words in the best order" I think you managed to tell the story with few words very wisely chosen.

  • carlosjackal On Tuesday, August 20, 2013, carlosjackal (3016)By person wrote:

    Wow..That ending, and the whole thing was so well written..Drawn in from the start, this is a classic. Brilliant.

  • FadedBlues On Tuesday, August 20, 2013, FadedBlues (2168)By person wrote:

    ...this is about unspoken understanding, between people that have no connection beyond a thing as trivial & monumental as a book of Bukowski poems. if you know him, it's easy to fall into...

  • A former member wrote: this has always been one of my favorites. i return to it often speechless always in its aftermath because you've said it all with a dash of fucking nothing. i love this and you. the award seems trite in comparison, but this poem and the author both deserve mountains of praise and recognition. "I wanted to know him, I wanted to ask what was so great about ruling anything." Chinaski would slap you on the back for this.

  • Lux On Tuesday, August 20, 2013, Lux (299)By person wrote:

    I have yet again, found a poem I don't know how to comment on. Know I read it and enjoyed it and am still pondering it.

  • Maladroit On Tuesday, August 20, 2013, Maladroit (202)By person wrote:

    Yay!!! Love your guts- and sometimes your poetry too ;)

  • A former member wrote: You say you're a narcissist...I see nothing of that in your Realm. Here lies an exposè on understanding, line after line of acceptance of those around you being who and what they are. And if you truly hate yourself, well...I can appreciate you enough for both of us. Good rant here, the end is vague but somehow it ties the entire feel of the poem together nicely.

  • Stephanie Sideways On Monday, April 8, 2013, Stephanie Sideways (276)By person wrote:

    This was really completely captivating. Wonderful the way it carried itself, and the capture of personalities woven into it. Seeing things through the young lads eyes in a mundane part of his life but with an incredible, credible depth! Really enjoyed this

  • Dei On Sunday, April 7, 2013, Dei (665)By person wrote:

    Love this. The ordinary vagabond-esque drifting through his day. I once filled a notebook of stories based soley on public laundry mats after midnight. This, reminded me of that. Finding the tragedy, the irony, and the beautiful that not only hides in the mundane but IS the mundane. well written. It made me want to shadow you through your strange city.

  • A former member wrote: A gnawing story along with the multilayered title...churn the mean ole bagels, jalapeno steak, I like...we're all spit back onto the sidewalk at some point. I was never a huge fan of Bukowksi, but this one is felt on colorful, disgusting levels...grease supreme. You grittier than the source, if you ask me. A poet thanks ya.

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