see: ending

I always had a proclivity for happiness but was often sad because
I knew that where I was caught happiness had very little
chance
but
I gave them the days, the long days of hours and the long years of
days
in exchange for some small time alone, preferably between the
walls, within the walls.

I had a little saying:   55 minutes for them, 5 for
me.
there was also a p.s. to that:   save what you
can.

the faces of the bosses and the cities altered yet remained the
same, yet,    getting lucky I began to find   little escape
routes.

and then the women entered and with each woman, at first, there
was some clear and magic
happiness
then they too became the faces of the bosses and the cities
and my proclivity for happiness became
altered:   they told me that I must give, accept, learn,
sacrifice, adjust and commit
but I had done all that long before I had met
them and I continued to do that after I separated from
each of them

and if this is being a male chauvinistic pig then that’s what
I am

and the title enters here:
A poem for Gloria Aldred.

Author
Charles Bukowski
Written
1984
Source
Original manuscript