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More poems by Charles BukowskiCharles Bukowski | Print this page.Print | View and Write CommentsComments (1) | Books by Charles BukowskiBooks by Charles Bukowski

Layover

Charles Bukowski

Making love in the sun, in the morning sun
in a hotel room
above the alley
where poor men poke for bottles;
making love in the sun
making love by a carpet redder than our blood,
making love while the boys sell headlines
and Cadillacs,
making love by a photograph of Paris
and an open pack of Chesterfields,
making love while other men- poor folks-
work.
That moment- to this. . .
may be years in the way they measure,
but it's only one sentence back in my mind-
there are so many days
when living stops and pulls up and sits
and waits like a train on the rails.
I pass the hotel at 8
and at 5; there are cats in the alleys
and bottles and bums,
and I look up at the window and think,
I no longer know where you are,
and I walk on and wonder where
the living goes
when it stops.

Added: 14 Aug 2001 | Last Read: 18 Jul 2018 10:38 AM | Viewed: 9192 times

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URL: http://plagiarist.com/poetry/159/ | Viewed on 18 July 2018.
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