Bukowski was a man,
such a B I G man.
He'd eat the shepherd alive
such a wide gulp.
And he turned
as they burned
from the fire,
it burned,
such a B I G man.
Well it is said
and there ain't no dispute
such a B I G man.
He would eat all the fries
and the Mexican Butch
and the Irish backstabbers as well.
Then the Earth once again
was a paradise, yes,
and the Gods took the credit for all.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem