Turned to Sympathy 
  by James L. Smith

The beer makes it on to the page first 
What can you write when Bukowski is 
As old and dead as Shakespeare 
The young perfect girls are all but 
Past or incorrect somehow 
Either way impossible and devastating 
I make arch enemies of bugs 
Or a light film of dirt on my Dodge 
What was once disgust has 
Turned to sympathy 
 

The body wants to survive 
The mind laughs and cries 
Laughs and gives the order to die 
And then they cry together 
Like brother and sister 
Huddled in a dark corner 
And they die 
 

I make a midnight snack 
Left over bloody steak warm 
I realize how much I love 
My wife in far off train silence and dark sheets 
Never long enough 
The sun rises again like a young child 
On Christmas morning