As if one could really be "bad" or "good" or even somehow different and better than others regarding something even animals know how to do right.
Competition
by Charles Bukowskiwe live by the harbor now
and at night
the ships often blow their foghorns
she's a light sleeper
she will leap up
sitting straight up in
bed...
"DAMN!"
"what is it? what is it?"
"I thought you farted!"
"not that time, dear..."
she is a good child; living with me
has disfunctioned her nerves.
actually I like to save up my farts for
the bathtub,
those grey bubbles waft up a magic stench
farting is much like f*cking:
you can't do it all the time but when you do
there oftentimes comes a feeling of proudness
as if your artistry in the act
were a rare
and precious thing
I fart more than I f*ck
and I fart better than I f*ck
and I am pleased to be mistaken
for a foghorn
in the middle of the night.
(Charles Bukowski, reading poetry live at the Sweetwater Inn in Redondo Beach, California on March 31, 1980)