Are You Drinking? by Charles Bukowski

Published november 12, 2014 17:04

Are You Drinking?

Washed-up, on shore, the old yellow notebook
out again
I write from the bed
as I did last
year.
Will see the doctor,
Monday.
"Yes, doctor, weak legs, vertigo, head-
aches and my back
hurts."
"Are you drinking?" He will ask.
"Are you getting your
exercise, your
vitamins?"
I think that I am just ill
with life, the same stale yet
fluctuating
factors.
Even at the track
I watch the horses run by
and it seems
meaningless.
I leave early after buying tickets on the
remaining races.
"Taking off?" Asks the motel
clerk.
"Yes, it's boring,"
I tell him.
"If you think it's boring
out there," he tells me, "you oughta be
back here."
So here I am
propped up against my pillows
again
just an old guy
just an old writer
with a yellow
notebook.
Something is
walking across the
floor
toward
me.
Oh, it's just
my cat
this
time.