Taking Bukowski To Church

The man behind me

can’t sing.

He’s a quarter-step below everyone else

who sing their praises aloud.

I know I’m supposed to be glad

that he’s chiming in, taking part

in a joyous activity that’s for all, no matter one’s ability;

I’m supposed to be gladdened in my heart, but

I’m not.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

The Why

These Things Are Wrong

Getting Rid Of The Children's Pets, One Lonely Creature At A Time (The Video)