Copyright © Pamela Pioli 2005
La canzone dei folli, Charles Bukowski, pages 254-255
a final word on no final word
near the end of the interview he leaned forward and asked, “now is there any final word you’d like to leave with your audience?”
“no”, I answered, “no final word.”
I felt his disappointment.
“no final word?” he asked again.
“no”, I said.
he had wanted a nice closer, he had wanted me to save his ass,
he had wanted me to save the ass of my audience.
well, I had worked hard enough to save my own ass.
“o.k.,” he recovered himself and said to me, “it’s been a real pleasure to inteview
“sure, baby,” I said.
then he motioned to the camera and sound men that
it was over
and they began packing their
“you fellows care for a drink?” I asked.
“no thanks.” the inteviewer spoke for everybody, they were pulling plugs from the walls, folding equipment into cases, it was as if I no longer
they had what they needed.
I stood with cigar and drink and watched them file out
the door and into the night.
Then they were gone with their asses that needed saving
even worse than mine.