Beer
A poem by Charles Bukowski
I don't know
how many bottles of beer I have consumed while waiting for things to get better
I dont know how much wine
and whiskey
and beer
mostly beer
I have consumed after splits with women
waiting for the phone to ring
waiting for the sound of footsteps
and the phone never rings
and the footsteps never arrive
until much later
when my stomach is coming up out of my mouth
they arrive as fresh as spring flowers:
"what the hell have you done to yourself?
it will be 3 days before you can fuck me!"
the female is durable
and she drinks very little beer
because she knows its bad for the figure.
while we are going mad
they are out dancing and laughing with horney cowboys.
well, there's beer
rivers and seas of beer
the radio singing love songs
as the phone remains silent
and the walls stand straight up and down
and beer
is all there is.