every now and then it comes back to
me,
him in bed there, blind,
being slowly chopped away,
the little bulldog.
the nurses passing through, pulling
at curtains, blinds, sheets.
seeing if he was still alive.
the Colorado kid.
the courage of the American
Mercury.
Mencken’s Catholic bad boy.
gone Hollywood.
and tossed up on shore.
being chopped away.
chop, chop, chop.
until he was gone.
he never knew he would be
famous.
I wonder if he would have given
a damn.
I think he would have.
John, you’re big time now.
you’ve entered the Books of
forever
right there with Dostoevsky,
Tolstoy, and your boy
Sherwood Anderson
I told you.
and you said, "you wouldn’t
shit an old blind man,
would you?"
ah, no need for that,
bulldog.
Charles Bukowski
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