Saturday, November 6, 2010

Bukowski by Barbara Moore

I see Bukowski everywhere
pissing against the wall
in the alleyway
pissing off the vegetable vendor
lifting fresh parsley to his nose
with dirty finger-nailed hands
inhaling deeply, never buying

weaving his way down the avenue
cursing the bicycle riders
whistling at the one-legged woman
in the sexy red dress
sprawled on the sidewalk
beside an orange cat
on a rhinestone leash

I see him in the post office
in mock-like slow motion
saluting the clock at noon
leaving a customer open-mouthed
transaction incomplete
hurrying to the lukewarm beer
stashed in his third-hand car

I see Bukowski at the bar
Sometimes Jane is with him
but mostly he’s alone
observing his reflection
in the broken glass
looking for a fight
or a temporary friend

I see him at the track
white-knuckling his losses
numbing his sorrows
with baby sips of beer
as he finds the words
and the lines flow
and a poem begins

Editor's note: "Bukowski" previously appeared on the blog here and now.

Author bio:

Barbara Moore lives in New York City. Her work appears in the poetry anthology The World According to Goldfish and in the online journals lines written with a razor and heroin love songs.


Pris said...

Love this, Barbara! Some people I'm sure will like this may not have google sign in accounts.


Excellent poem, Barbara. It has that Bukowski "style". One of your best works...