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He'd Hate Us

I’m just the guy

who once fell for a woman

who read Bukowski

I bet there’s a lot of guys out there like me.

We should start a club–

get beers every Thursday

and rub our bellies

We should go to the tracks

and gamble away what little money we have,

and if we win,

we must spend it all on cheap wine.

On Mondays

we fuck each others wives-

and all the women in our dirty city

We must throw rocks at the blue birds

and push our junker cars to start them

On Saturdays nights

we can meet at the drunk tank

and there we can bitch about the women that broke our hearts

We can stumble through the streets

pretending to be hard men.

Let’s fight each other

and then drink more afterwards.

And we must never


under any circumstance

tell people we are writers.

That’s the number one rule of the ‘Bukowski Boys’

It’s a horrible name, I know fellas, but we must keep it simple, that’s the way he’d want it.

He’d hate us

Oh I’m sure he would

He’d hate that he inspired a generation of drunk idiot poets.

He would stick up his middle finger and tell us to be original.

But let us chug our drinks,

and give him the finger right back.

Sorry Chuck,

you’ve passed the torch,

we will be the new horny, drunk, poor, dirty, bitter, poets.

You just let us take it from here.


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