Bukowski: A Wonder Filled Poet

I've really come to appreciate the poetry of Charles Bukowski. There's a certain dance between truth and beauty that delights me. It would be great if he was remembered more for this than being a drunk.




liberated woman and liberated men

look here
the one you considered killing yourself
for.
you saw her the other day
getting out of the car
in the Safeway parking lot.
she was wearing a torn green
dress and old dirty
boots
her face raw and living.
she saw you
so you walked over
and spoke and then
listened.
her hair did not glisten
her eyes and her conversation were
dull.
where was she?
where had she gone?
the one you were going to kill yourself
for.

the conversation finished
she walked into the store
and you looked at her automobile
and even that
which used to drive up and park
in front of your door
with such verve and in the spirit of
adventure
now looked like a junkyard
joke.

you decide not to shop at
Safeway
you'll drive 6 blocks
east and buy what you need at
at Ralphs.

getting into your car
you are quite pleased that
you didn't
kill yourself;
everything is delightful and
the air is clear.
your hands on the wheel,
you grin as you check for traffic in
the rearview mirror.

my man, you think
you've saved yourself
for somebody else, but who?

a slim young creature walks by
in a miniskirt and sandals
showing marvelous leg.
she's going to shop at Safeway
too.

you turn off the engine an
follow her in.