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
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

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

now that’s

Charles Bukowski
Original manuscript
This poem appeared in the following books: