Wednesday, February 01, 2006


I never met Bukowski but I know
this guy who knew him when and name-drops Hank
every now and again. He knew a lot
of famous dead guys back then, back in the Sixties,

and was kind of famous himself for a week
or two. I don’t know if he’ll ever live
that down but he keeps trying, looking for
the next comeback, getting straight for a while,

throwing away his damaged dream when doubt
taps him on the shoulder. But, hey, maybe
this time it will work; we do get older
and a little wiser, after all.

Older – there’s the word we both fear now,
the has-been, the never-was. Better than being
dead, though, even dead and famous. Bukowski
will never write another poem.

Stephen Brooke ©2006

Yeah, that's a real person I reference here, though I took out a poetic license. Very much doubt he ever reads any of my stuff.

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