|EARTHQUAKE (another poem)|
- Wednesday, May 16 2012, 22:12:07 (UTC)|
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by Charles Bukowski (1972)
Americans don't know what tragedy is --
a little 6.5 earthquake can set them to chattering
like monkeys --
a piece of chinaware broken,
the Union Rescue Mission falls down --
they sit in their cars
they're all driving around --
where are they going?
a little excitement has broken into their
stranger stands next to stranger
chattering gibberish fear
anxious laughter ...
my baby, my flower pots, my ceiling
my bank account
this is just a tickler
and they can't bear it ...
suppose they bombed the city
as other cities have been bombed
not with an a-bomb
but with ordinary blockbusters
day after day,
as has happened
in other cities of the world?
if the rest of the world could see you today
their laughter would bring the sun to its knees
and even the flowers would leap from the ground
and chase you away to where you belong
wherever that is,
and who cares where it is,
as long as it's somewhere away from
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