bukowski was always right by Scot Young

bukowski sat
next to
brautigan in
ginos bar
said
hey fucker
you know when
the words go
you got
nothing
no pussy
unless you
buy it
might as well
cash in yr chips

richard looked
at the small pile
of change
beside the
wet coaster
counted forty
five cents
tried to scratch
out a poem
to trade for a beer
nothing
now that's
what i'm talkin
about
bukowski said
rubbing the red
head's thigh up
under her dress
brautigan was
already on the
sidewalk
pea coat collar
turned up
against the north
beach rain
mustache still damp
from the last drops
of beer
45 cents clutched
in his fist
like his last poem
wasn't enough
for anything

Scot Young lives with the woman of his dreams and herds goats on a ridge top  farm in the Missouri Ozarks and nothing else is as important.