the room

nothing changes,
I am backed into this small room
like all the other small
rooms.

5 decades ago
I sat as a young man
before a machine,
the door closed,
the shades pulled
down.

now it is not the same
machine or
the same
young man.

the radio plays
and as I hit the keys
I recognize the classical
music,
I heard it half a century
before.

“peace and quiet are in
your future.”
was the message in a
fortune cookie I opened
this week.
and I thought, maybe death
will not be
that.

backed into this small room,
I make my last
stand.

the walls rise splendidly
up,
my cigarette smoke and
the music
rise.

the words bite into the
page.

my wrist watch on the
desk says
1:55 a.m.

the door is
closed.

Author
Charles Bukowski
Written
1983
Source
Original manuscript