the anarchists

one time I got to sitting around my place
and all these fellows had long dark beards
and were very intense.
but crowds of people come to see me.
I usually roust them, get rid of them
and then a new gang arrives.
none of them ever bring enough women,
they hide their women from me.
I drink beer and listen, but not too

but this particular crowd kept coming
back.   to me it was mostly beer and
chatter.   but I noticed that they
usually arrived in caravans and had
some central yet confused organization.
I kept telling them that I didn’t give
a fuck–either about America or about
them.   I just kept drinking.   and each
morning when I awakened they’d be gone–
and that was better than some others.
finally they stopped arriving, and a
few months later I wrote a short story
about their political chatter–which,
of course, was their total idealism.
the story was    published somewhere.

about a month later the leader walked
in and sat down and split a 6-pack.
“I want to tell you something, Bukowski,
we read that story.   We held a council
and took a vote on whether to murder
you or not.   You won, 6 to 5.”

I laughed at him then, some years ago,
but I’m no longer laughing.   and even
though I paid for most of the beer and
some of you fellows pissed on the
toilet lid, I still appreciate that
extra vote.

Like this website? Support it.
I want to bring all of Bukowski's poems online and make then freely available. This means hundreds of hours of work to retype over 1,000 of his poems from the original manuscripts. Your donations will help support this work.