il Bucco nero.

First time my father overheard me listening to
this bit of music he asked me,
"what is it?"
"it's called Love For Three Oranges,"
I informed him.
"boy," he said, "that's getting it

cheap."
he meant sex.
listening to it
I always imagined three oranges

sitting there,
you know how orange they can
get,

so mightily orange.
maybe Prokofiev had meant
what my father
thought.
if so, I preferred it the
other way
the most horrible thing

I could think of
was part of me being
what ejaculated out of the
end of his
stupid penis.
I will never forgive him

for that,
his trick that I am stuck
with,

I find no nobility in
parenthood.
I say kill the Father

before he makes more

such as I.

Bukowski