Revolt In The Ranks
Poem by Charles Bukowski
I have just spent one-hour-and-a-half
when am I going to get at the poems?
well, they'll just have to wait
they'll have to warm their feet in the
where they'll sit gossiping about
"this Chinaski, doesn't he realize that
without us he would have long ago
gone mad, been dead?"
"he knows, but he thinks he can keep
us at his beck and call!"
"he's an ingrate!"
"let's give him writer's block!"
the little poems kick up their heels
then the biggest one gets up and
walks toward the door.
"hey, where are you going?" he is
"somewhere where I am
and the others
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