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Thanksgiving
by Charles Bukowski
She knocked on my door at 3am, drunk
just to tell me how my poetry moved her.
I belched at her and stared at her tits
that invited her in.
The wallpaper peeled off the wall
from the heat of the oven as she
tried to play homemaker
drunk
depressed
chain-smoking as her ash fell into the potatoes
This bird needs more stuffing, I thought
as I moved to get out of my chair and
decided that it wasn't worth the effort
Another will be along soon enough
and that's reason enough for thanksgiving.
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(Thanks to Ross Brown)
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