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Poem For My 43rd Birthday

 To end up alone
in a tomb of a room
without cigarettes
or wine--
just a lightbulb
and a potbelly,
grayhaired,
and glad to have
the room.
.
.
.
in the morning they're out there making money: judges, carpenters, plumbers, doctors, newsboys, policemen, barbers, carwashers, dentists, florists, waitresses, cooks, cabdrivers.
.
.
and you turn over to your left side to get the sun on your back and out of your eyes.
from "All's Normal Here" - 1985

Poem by Charles Bukowski
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