looking out the window
smoking rolled cigarettes
drinking Sanka
and watching the workers
come on in
wonder, how much longer
can I get away with this?
stories and poems and
paintings
surviving on that.
an insane girlfriend
years younger
who loves me
types at her novel
in the kitchen.
my stories, my poems...
what is a poem?
book by Céline sits on
the edge of the bathtub.
read it when I bathe
and laugh.
the workers come in now
see their faces,
the insides scraped away,
the outsides
missing.
I’ve had their jobs,
their goldfish
security.
Segovia plays to me
so softly from the
radio, the daylight’s going.
look here—
the trip’s been worth it,
while the jetliners go to New York and
Georgia and Texas
sit surrounded by hymns that
nobody can ever take away
as the workers bend over
hot soup and cold
wives.
Other works by Charles Bukowski...
