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The Sick Man, by Laurits Andersen Ring
Charles Bukowski

Charles Bukowski

Confession
waiting for death
like a cat
that will jump on the
bed
 
I am so very sorry for
my wife
 
she will see this
stiff
white
body
shake it once, then
maybe
again
 
“Hank!”
Hank won’t
answer.
 
it’s not my death that
worries me, it’s my wife
left with this
pile of
nothing.
 
I want to
let her know
though
that all the nights
sleeping
beside her
 
even the useless
arguments
were things
ever splendid
 
and the hard
words
I ever feared to
say
can now be
said:
 
I love
you.

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