Our lives begin to end the day we become silent about things that matter

Friday, March 18, 2005

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.)

No comments: