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 mirrored glass
Looking for a fight
Or a temporary friend
I see him at the track
White-knuckling his losses
Anesthetizing sorrow
With baby sips of beer
As he finds the words
And the lines flow
And a poem begins
© 2009 Barbara Moore
Here and Now 2009
Clockwise Cat Issue 19