What Of Bukowski

Bizarre parked itself at the
complex next door,
laid in wait among the letters
on the side of a workman's
pick-up, proclaiming
"Bukowski Plumbing."

What would this mean, exactly
to think that some forgetfulness
holding mirrored temperament;
to claim that for some odd
unknowable reason, the integrity
of an original barfly could
run rampant through and above
the slipshod rat-race of humanity
once again.

Oh, surely the consequence
that would bring, sailing
a direct hit, this flying
in the face of breaking
the mold; with the longest
of poems, shortest of stories
each with a point to make,
a story to tell.


(Actually saw a van in the parking lot the other day, with "Bukowski Plumbing" painted on the side. I knew I should have run down there and got a picture, otherwise... nah, nobody's gonna ever believe this! But it is true.)