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Charles Bukowski - Poem For My 43rd Birthday
Work rating: Low

To end up alone
in a tomb of a room
without cigarettes
or wine—
just a lightbulb
and a potbelly,
grayhaired,
and glad to have
the room. 
…in the morning
they`re out there
making money:
judges, carpenters,
plumbers, doctors,
newsboys, policemen,
barbers, carwashers,
dentists, florists,
waitresses, cooks,
cabdrivers… 
and you turn over
to your left side
to get the sun
on your back
and out
of your eyes. 
from "All`s Normal Here" - 1985
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