From Betting on the Muse, Poems & Stories:
that rare good moment
when the gods relent
when the dogs back
off
you are sitting in a
Sushi joint
working the chopsticks
between two tall bottles of
Kirin
and you are quietly thinking
about any number of Hells
you have
survived,
probably no more than
anybody else
but they’re yours to
remember.
survival is a very
funny thing,
and it’s weird,
passing safely through all the
wars,
the women,
the hospitals, the jails,
youth,
middle-age,
suicide dances,
decades of nothingness.
now in a Sushi joint
on a side street
in a small town,
it all passes before
you
quickly
like a bad/good
movie.
there is this
strange feeling of
peace.
not a car passing
in the street,
not a sound.
you hold the chopsticks
as if you have used
them for
centuries,
note a tiny piece of
coleslaw at the
edge of your
plate.
there, you have it,
all that style,
grace,
god damn it’s so
strange
to feel good to
be alive,
doing nothing
exceptional
and feeling
the glory of
that,
like a full
choir behind you,
like the sidewalks,
like the
doorknobs.
grass grows in Greece
and even ducks
sleep.
Books by Bukowski at Powell's Books
