At Home Alone

by Dave The Dov

Posted to Poetry on 2002-09-21 08:56:00

I sit in the kitchen of my apartment. I pop open a pony drink while reading a book of poems by that wonderful fat bold bastard who told of his life like it is Charles Bukowski. I wander up and down the hallway like a ghost in a museleum. Wondering where is everyone. I make up my mind to go and visit my friend and see if she is free for Satuarday night. I look up and out the kitchen window across the alley and think the lights in windows are off because either the people who live there are out for the evening or they decided to stay in and are fucking with the lights of so I can’t see them. But they can see me. So the sun will come down and the day will end. Just like this poem.