Poetry Sunday

I'm two years shy of my 72nd birthday, but I'm not ready to check out yet - I have grandchildren to love, a garden to tend, fine wine to drink, and plenty of friends who are, oddly enough, still speaking to me ...

two nights before my 72nd birthday

by Charles Bukowski

sitting here on a boiling hot night while

drinking a bottle of cabernet sauvignon

after winning $232 at the track.

there's not much I can tell you except 

if it weren't for my bad right leg

I don't feel much different than I did

30 or 40 years ago (except that

now I have more money and should be able 

to afford a decent 

burial). also,

I drive better automobiles and have

stopped carrying a 

switchblade.

I am still looking for a hero, a role model,

but can't find one.

I am no more tolerant of Humanity

than I ever was.

I am not bored with myself and find

that I am the only one I can 

turn to in time of

crisis.

I've been ready to die for decades and

I've been practicing, polishing up

for that end

but it's very 

hot tonight

and I can thing of little but

this fine cabernet,

that's gift enough for me.

sometimes I can't 

believe I've come this far,

this has to be some kind of goddamned

miracle!

just another old guy

blinking at the forces,

smiling a little,

as the cities tremble and the left

hand rises,

clutching

something 

real. 

Have a good day, enjoy the rest of the weekend ... and of your life - it's the only one you'll get.

More thoughts coming.

Bilbo