I do it while thinking about things

sometimes as I sit at this table
I yank out my eyebrow hairs.
they are very long
and a deep red.

my beard is red
white
and brown.
I like the white best.
when I cut off the edges of my beard
the white is pure snow.

but my eyebrows are best
so red and long
and they grow right back.

I sit at this table
and I place my eyebrows
one by one
against the hot globe
of the tablelamp.
I get myself this collection.

my woman came by this time
and saw all that on the bulb of
the tablelamp.

“what the hell’s all that?” she asked.
“pubic hairs?   uggg!”

I didn’t answer.
I took a match and burned the hairs
away.

“it’s all right,” she said,
“I used to collect stamps.”

now that’s
understanding.

Author
Charles Bukowski
Written
1977
Source
Original manuscript
This poem appeared in the following books: