Reading some Hank Bukowski this Friday:

we tried to hide it in the house so that the neighbors wouldn’t see. it was difficult, sometimes we both had to be gone at once and when we returned there would be excrete and urine all about. it wouldn’t toilet train but it had the bluest eyes you ever saw and it ate everything we did and we often watched tv together. one evening we came home and it was gone. there was blood on the floor, there was a trail of blood. I followed it outside and into the garden and there in the brush it was, mutilated. there was a sign hung about its severed throat: “we don’t want things like this in our neighborhood.” I walked to the garage for a shovel. I told my wife, “don’t come out here.” then I walked back with the shovel and began digging. I sensed the faces watching me from behind drawn blinds. they had their neighborhood back, a nice quiet neighborhood with green lawns, palm trees, circular driveways, children, churches, a supermarket, etc. I dug into the earth.

one evening we came home and it was
gone.
there was blood on the floor,
there was a trail of blood.
I followed it outside and into the garden
and there in the brush it was,
mutilated.
there was a sign hung about its severed
throat:
“we don’t want things like this in our
neighborhood.”

I walked to the garage for a shovel.
I told my wife, “don’t come out here.”
then I walked back with the shovel and
began digging.
I sensed
the faces watching me from behind
drawn blinds.

they had their neighborhood back,
a nice quiet neighborhood with green
lawns, palm trees, circular driveways, children,
churches, a supermarket, etc.

I dug into the earth.

In a belated celebration of Father's Day, I decided to share some poetry by one of my favorite feel-good poets, Charles Bukowski. Clearly, he had a complicated relationship with his father, but I think deep down he loved his old man, which is why I included the poem "one for the old boy".

My Father

was a truly amazing man
he pretended to be
rich
even though we lived on beans and mush and weenies
when we sat down to eat, he said,
"not everybody can eat like this."

and because he wanted to be rich or because he actually
thought he was rich
he always voted Republican
and he voted for Hoover against Roosevelt
and he lost
and then he voted for Alf Landon against Roosevelt
and he lost again
saying, "I don't know what this world is coming to,
now we've got that god damned Red in there again
and the Russians will be in our backyard next!"

I think it was my father who made me decide to
become a bum.
I decided that if a man like that wants to be rich
then I want to be poor.

and I became a bum.
I lived on nickles and dimes and in cheap rooms and
on park benches.
I thought maybe the bums knew something.

but I found out that most of the bums wanted to be
rich too.
they had just failed at that.

so caught between my father and the bums
I had no place to go
and I went there fast and slow.
never voted Republican
never voted.

buried him
like an oddity of the earth
like a hundred thousand oddities
like millions of other oddities,
wasted.

Throwing Away the Alarm Clock

my father always said, "early to bed and
early to rise makes a man healthy, wealthy
and wise."

it was lights out at 8 p.m. in our house
and we were up at dawn to the smell of
coffee, frying bacon and scrambled
eggs.

my father followed this general routine
for a lifetime and died young, broke,
and, I think, not too
wise.

taking note, I rejected his advice and it
became, for me, late to bed and late
to rise.

now, I'm not saying that I've conquered
the world but I've avoided
numberless early traffic jams, bypassed some
common pitfalls
and have met some strange, wonderful
people

one of whom
was
myself—someone my father
never
knew.

one for the old boy

he was just a
cat
cross-eyed,
a dirty white
with pale blue eyes

I won't bore you with his
history
just to say
he had much bad luck
and was a good old
guy
and he died
like people die
like elephants die
like rats die
like flowers die
like water evaporates and
the wind stops blowing

the lungs gave out
last Monday.
now he's in the rose garden
and I've heard a
stirring march
playing for him
inside of me
which I know
not many
but some of you
would like to
know
about.

that's
all.