Appears in Burning in Water, Drowning in Flame

Charles Bukowski
on going out to get the mail

the droll noon
where squadrons of worms creep up like
to be raped by blackbirds

I go outside
and all up and down the street
the green armies shoot color
like an everlasting 4th. of July,
and I too seem to swell inside,
a kind of unknown bursting, a
feeling, perhaps, that there isn't any

and I reach down into the box
and there is
nothing not even a
letter from the gas co. saying they will
shut it off

not even a short note from my x-wife
bragging upon her present

my hand searches the mailbox in a kind of
disbelief long after the mind has
given up.

there's not even a dead fly
down in there.

I am a fool, I think, I should have known it
works like this.

I go inside as all the flowers leap to
please me.

anything? the woman

nothing, I answer, what's for

©Linda Lee Bukowski - used with permission