Charles Bukowski

(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994 / Andernach)

Layover - Poem by Charles Bukowski

Making love in the sun, in the morning sun
in a hotel room
above the alley
where poor men poke for bottles;
making love in the sun
making love by a carpet redder than our blood,
making love while the boys sell headlines
and Cadillacs,
making love by a photograph of Paris
and an open pack of Chesterfields,
making love while other men- poor folks-
work.
That moment- to this. . .
may be years in the way they measure,
but it's only one sentence back in my mind-
there are so many days
when living stops and pulls up and sits
and waits like a train on the rails.
I pass the hotel at 8
and at 5; there are cats in the alleys
and bottles and bums,
and I look up at the window and think,
I no longer know where you are,
and I walk on and wonder where
the living goes
when it stops.


Comments about Layover by Charles Bukowski

  • (6/21/2008 1:50:00 PM)


    this poem makes me reflect on a few of the people I, ve known, that have wasted thier lives................Joe Virden, Amarillo, Texas (Report) Reply

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Read poems about / on: paris, sun, work, love, cat



Poem Submitted: Monday, January 13, 2003



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