Ένας άλλος Bukowski

waiting for death
like a cat
that will jump on the bed

I am so sorry for my wife

she will see this
stiff
white
body
shake it once, then
maybe again

"Hank!"

Hank won't answer.

it's not my death that
worries me, it's my wife
left with this
pile of nothing.

I want to
let her know
though
that all the nights
sleeping beside her

even the useless
arguments
were things
ever splendid

and the hard words
I ever feared to
say
can now be said:

I love
you