first time my father overheard me listening to <br />this bit of music he asked me, <br />"what is it?" <br />"it's called Love For Three Oranges," <br />I informed him. <br />"boy," he said, "that's getting it <br />cheap." <br />he meant sex. <br />listening to it <br />I always imagined three oranges <br />sitting there, <br />you know how orange they can <br />get, <br />so mightily orange. <br />maybe Prokofiev had meant <br />what my father <br />thought. <br />if so, I preferred it the <br />other way <br />the most horrible thing <br />I could think of <br />was part of me being <br />what ejaculated out of the <br />end of his <br />stupid penis. <br />I will never forgive him <br />for that, <br />his trick that I am stuck <br />with, <br />I find no nobility in <br />parenthood. <br />I say kill the Father <br />before he makes more <br />such as <br />I.<br /><br />Charles Bukowski<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/three-oranges/
