GHOST ON A TRAIN.

A WOMAN THINKS SHE SAW BUKOWSKI ON A TRAIN.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

You thought you saw
Bukowski on
A train, sitting
Mumbling in

 

A corner seat;
He looked just like
The photo that
You’d seen, minus

 

Beer bottle and
Cigarette, but
He looked the same.
The words were held

 

About his head,
Bits of poems,
Quotes of this and
That, pieces of

 

Talk of booze, games,
Bets on horses,
Words of women
And mewing cats.

 

He wore a tee
Shirt and faded
Jeans, bearded jaw,
And scary stare;

 

You looked away,
Then back again,
But Bukowski
Wasn’t there. May

 

Be it was some 
Look-alike who
Was sitting there
Or perhaps it

 

Was his ghost you
Saw. Bukowski’s
Dead now, he died
In 94.

Author's Note

PAINTING BY ROBERT HOUSE.

Reviews

[Terry Collett]

Bukowski is my favourite poet along with Ezra Pound and Dylan Thomas of the modern poets. Thank you, Rose, for your review.

[just rose.]

I love Bukowski. When I read his stuff I can smell his nasty room, and the beauty of his stuff is that we all have a nasty room inside ourselves, for lack of a better image, and something beautiful can come out of it. I like his plain-spokenness but like this woman, I would have felt slightly invaded or shocked by seeing a vision of him, and I too would've felt the sense of vague regret/return to reality that she does. Really really revealing write about a quite muscular and jarring poet, with his loose women and his kitty cats. I like this so much.

[Coyote Poetry]

I like this poem. Someone told me I write like him. I laugh and them one day I hope I can. A excellent poem. I use to sit where Hemingway got drunk in Monterey. I try to do the same. Didn't help my writing. I like this poem. A very good story.
Coyote