405 South

almost every day on the freeway
I see the crushed body of a dead
dog,
the blood coagulated,
the animal is left there
until the tires and time
disintegrate the
remains.

consider if we did this with
humans?

“hey, Harry, grandma just dropped
out the window!   she was crushed
into pizza by a Bekins truck!”

“fuck it!   pass me a can of
beer!”

the tab is ripped off and a spot of
foam climbs unto the lid, neat
brew.

Author
Charles Bukowski
Written
1982
Source
Original manuscript