Confissão de Bukowski

waiting for death like a cat
that will jump on the bed
I am so very 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 . . .

Charles Bukowski