even in winter
my ears bleed
i never wanted to see that broad again
but i did
i paid too much for too little
i ask why
why so much for a sleigh ride
just cold air breezing through my clothes
i think about why i gave the bottle up
just for a night to be with her
and her damn little ride
then i remembered
the smell of that perfume
it was all there
but the cold brought me back
back to where i was before she called
i just can't hear that jing-jing-jingling
I don't fancy myself a poet; I was just doing what I thought old Hank might have said. I've only read one of his books (Hot Water Music, a collection of short stories), seen the Born Into This documentary and have read a couple of his poems. Frankly, I thought I was writing a total Bukowski rip-off and nothing more. I was expecting somebody else to come along and do something like "Santa Claus is Coming to Town" by John Cheever or "Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer" by Richard Wilbur. Tee-hee, ha-ha, right?
So it was surprising when Jason asked me if this was a real Bukowski poem. Jason's really into poetry (he once had his own poetry magazine) and has a number of books of poems all throughout our house. He said he liked it regardless of who wrote it and I was very flattered. He suggested I submit it somewhere. The cynic in me felt like saying no and just make light of the whole thing, but another part of me wants that cynic to shut up. This other part wants to try doing some poetry (in addition to all the other writing I do).
So I ask you, the reader of this non-poetry blog portal, would you care to occasionally see original poems on here?