Platform 9 10/10/09

I walk up & down the platform reading Charles Bukowski,
feeling more & more depressed from all that
truth

I couldn’t get a date with that exciting man
He’s been chatting me up from a distance
using technology
But he backs away when I try to get some
reality
Maybe he knows I want to talk and fuck &
that makes him scared
or something. There’s something
I don’t get

I text the shy fellow with the beautiful arms
He’s one of those men who make love to your
whole body
I say I could get off the train a few stations early
if he wants some company
But he doesn’t call me
I don’t want to phone & scare him
even more
so I wait

A train from the Show stops
Ladles out passengers
Showbags, cheap toys, blowup novelties
I stand
with my book
Split their flow in two as they
pour around me

When my train comes
I go home &
      & watch a movie?
      & phone my mother?
      & do my taxes?
      & drink whiskey?

I go home
I go home
I go home
& go to bed with Charles Bukowski — I know, that’s such a
cliche, & I’m no
groupie
But,
the thing about him is,

he’s not scared of anyone

What do you think?