waiting for death
like a cat
that will jump on the
bed

I am so very sorry for
my wife

she will see this
stiff
white 
body
shake it once, then
maybe
again

"Hank!"

Hank won't
answer.

it's not my death that
worries me, it's my wife
left with this
pile of
nothing.

I want to
let her know 
though
that all the nights
sleeping
beside her

even the useless
arguments
were things
ever splendid

and the hard 
words
I ever feared to 
say 
can now be 
said:

I love
you.

Poet: Charles Bukowski
Poem: Confession

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