A Cheery Poem on Aging and Opportunity Squandered

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The Tragedy of the Leaves

by Charles Bukowski

I awakened to dryness and the ferns were dead, 

the potted plants yellow as corn; 

my woman was gone 

and the empty bottles like bled corpses 

surrounded me with their uselessness;  

the sun was still good, though,  

and my landlady's note cracked in fine and 

undemanding yellowness; what was needed now 

was a good comedian, ancient style, a jester 

with jokes upon absurd pain; pain is absurd 

because it exists, nothing more; 

I shaved carefully with an old razor 

the man who had once been young and 

said to have genius; but 

that's the tragedy of the leaves, 

the dead ferns, the dead plants; 

and I walked into a dark hall 

where the landlady stood 

execrating and final, 

sending me to hell, 

waving her fat, sweaty arms 

and screaming 

screaming for rent 

because the world had failed us 

both.

Canadian Trucker Limerick

 

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In Ottawa streets walk brutes,

Quite proud of their nice jackboots,

But while they high-five,

Their wives do connive,

With truckers in carnal pursuits.