I recall reading this Bukowski poem twenty years ago. The images remained with me all this time. I wonder how Bukowski could stand going to the track. That's one thing I couldn't take. I've never been to the track, not even once.
neon
today at the track they gave
all the patrons
neon caps.
the caps glowed and
said
HOLLYWOOD PARK
some of those jerk-offs
wore their caps
backwards.
25 thousand neon
heads.
faces of
greed.
stone
faces.
faces
of horror.
blank wall
faces.
idiot eyes
under
neon.
fat white
stupefied
husbands and
wives.
Oakies with
blond hair.
screechers
preachers
poachers
punks . . .
left-overs,
half-dead,
part
warm.
neon
neon.
cement
faces.
blithering
voices.
nothing.
neon over
nothing.
I thought I was
in hell.
maybe I was in
hell.
a day-glow
inferno of
festering
hell.
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