Time for another poem. This time, if Bukowski wrote about today's weather in Dallas:


it reigns over everything i want to do
it sums up my mood
but i see some clearing

the rain brought some cold
yet there is no ice
no panic
no fear
just some skids at a stoplight

i want some more clearing
before i walk outside
do the drunks care about the weather?
i guess i'm an exception

winter is supposed to start tomorrow
but it feels like fall just started
halloween felt like yesterday
hell, last year's christmas party felt like yesterday

time goes too fast
in a weekly routine

my shopping is done
i cross my fingers for no return trips
even if it totally clears
i've had enough shopping for a year

i'm too old to play in the leaves
i'm too aware of the mud on the ground
i think i'll enjoy the ground when it goes back to dirt
maybe i'll have something else to complain about