A Word With Bukowski

(I'm still posting many older poems while I struggle with this infection. A while back, Didi Menendez, publisher of MiPo Journal, threw out the challenge-choose a poem you like and write a response poem to it. Here it is again, with a link to the original poem beneath it.
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A Word With Bukowski

It's no good.
Me, doing that
mirror, mirror
on the wall thing,
smearing my
wrinkles with Arden
while you moan
about old chorus girls
and the horrors of
ingrown toenails
in prison.

You always could
out talk me, you know.

I tell you I have visions
of Dorothy's shoes,
empty on the yellow
brick road, and that
mid-earth explosions
will destroy our dreams
anyway, hoping
to impress with profundity.

You roll bored eyes,
tap one finger on the countertop.

I wish you could have
come when my breasts
still burned men's hands
and my laugh chased
away all blackbirds of sorrow.

But those days have been
drained, like fine wine,
so yes, let us talk
about worn-out furnaces,
overdue mortgages,
liver spots,
and watch the buzzards
draw straws over who
gets the last rib.

Pris Campbell
(c)2003

Published in MiPo Bonsai Print, 2004


The poem I was responding to can be found on THIS SITE, The Blackbirds Are Rough Today.