I Inherit

I haven't shared any pieces from Bukowski for a long time. And it's the time. It's "I inherit" from the book "What matters most is how well you walk through the fire". We all are getting older... Sad but try to enjoy the truth.

the old guy next door died
last week,
he was 95 or 96,
I'm not sure.
but I am now the oldest fart
in the neighborhood.
when I bend over to
pick up the morning
paper
I think of heart attack
or when I swim in my
pool
alone
I think,
Jesus Christ,
they'll come and
find me floating here
face down,
my 8 cats sitting on the
edge
licking and
scratching.
dying's not bad,
it's that little transition
from here to
there
that's strange
like flicking the light
switch
off.

I'm now the old fart
in the neighborhood,
been working at it for
some time,
but now I have to work
in some new
moves:
I have to forget to zip up
all the way,
wear slippers instead of my
shoes,
hang my glasses around my
neck,
fart loudly in the
supermarket,
wear unmatched
socks,
back my car into a
garbage can.
I must shorten my
stride, take small
mincing steps,
develop a squint,
bow my head and
ask, "what? what
did you say?"

I've got to get ready,
whiten my hair,
forget to
shave.
I want you to know me
when you see
me:
I'm now the old fart
in the neighborhood
and you can't tell me
a damn thing I don't already
know.

respect your elders,
sonny, and get the
hell out of my
way!