Sunday, April 17, 2011

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.

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