I missed Bukowski's birthday (again) earlier this week. Here's a poem to make up for it.

Eat

talking of death
is like talking of
money -
we neither know the
price or the
worth,
yet looking down at my hands
I can guess
a little.

man's made for guessing and for
failure
and women
for the rest.

when the time comes
I hope I can remember
eating a pear.

we are sick now
with so many dead
dogs
skulls
armies
flowers
continents.

there is a fight -

this is it:
against the mechanics
of the thing.

eat a good pear today
so tomorrow
you can
remember
it.

-- Charles Bukowski