broke his bank, totaled his car and slept with
of course, everybody was sleeping with his
wife but a nicer guy you never
T.K. Kemper played a couple of years with
the Green Bay Packers
then a bad knee got him.
he went into automotive repair,
did very good work.
he was a
lousy card player though; we’d get him
drunk and take it all from
his wife lurking in the background, her tits
big, big guy.
hands like hams.
honest blue eyes.
give you the shirt off his back.
give you his back if he could.
one night after work he saw two punks
snatch a purse from an old
he ran after them when
one of the punks turned, had a gun, fired
he was a big, big guy.
he caught all 5 shots, hit the pavement
hard, didn’t move.
there was a good crowd at the funeral.
his wife cried.
my friend Eddie consoled her,
then took her home and fucked
he was not meant for this indifferent world.
only with supreme luck did he last
Charles Bukowski- Sifting Through The MADNESS for the WORD, The Line, THE WAY
Reprinted here with no permission from anyone, Black Sparrow Press, Harper Collins or any of the other fuckers getting rich on his back. Fuck you all.
-Lewis Applequist II