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Bukowski & Me

copyright John F McMullen 2021

I have told this story
many times before
but will do it again
I just tell stories
(and call it poetry)
I never liked poetry
although I studied it as
an English Literature
major in college
I never saw the point
I was a published writer
        a reporter
        a columnist
        a reviewer
        an author of books
over 2,500 pieces
but not a poet

Not a writer of poetry
not even a reader of poetry
for thirty-five years
since then:
thousands of poems written
hundreds of them published in magazines
ten books or chapbooks published
bookcases full of poetry books
what changed all of this is my life?

I was coming out of a rest-room
in a Barnes & Noble
and walking down an aisle
when I saw a book with
a very strange title
I picked it up and
took it back to my table

It was a book of poetry!
by Charles Bukowski
I read it anyway
I was doomed

I recognized immediately
that Bukowski was:
        an alcoholic
        a misogynist
        more than a bit of a nut
        fucking brilliant
and he made me want to try my hand
and so I did

If you dislike my writing
blame Bukoswki
(he used profanity too)
if you like it, then,
say a prayer for his
eternal soul
(you might include
mine as well)

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