old?

I’ll be 71 in August,
time to pack my bags for a
lark in the dark
but there are some things
holding me back:
I haven’t had enough to
drink yet
and also there’s this
old guy who lives in
the house next door.
he’s still there and he’s
96.
he knocks on his window
with his cane and
blows kisses to my
wife.
he’s totally alert,
arrow straight back,
he watches too much
tv but don’t we
all?

I visit him sometimes.
he talks away,
not bad stuff, he sometimes
tends to repeat
but it’s almost worth hearing
again.

I was sitting with him one
day and he said,
“you know, I’m going to
kick off soon…”

“well,” I said, “I don’t know
about that.”

“I do,” he said.
“now look, would you like
to buy my house?”

“well, yeah, it’s a nice place.”

“I don’t know if you can give me
what I want for it…”

“well, I don’t either, try me.”

“well,” he said, “I need a new
set of testicles.”

when this guy dies there is
going to be a great big space
that is going to be hard
to fill.

you know what I
mean?

Author
Charles Bukowski
Written
1991
Source
Original manuscript