Adds to Bukowski’s Shoe

A rented, gas-powered chain saw.

iTunes.

A spring-loaded, adjustable shower curtain rod.

Mealy apples.

Billing clerks at online merchant sites.

LED headlights in the rearview mirror.


These are things that vex me,

In singular assaults or as a gang running in tandem.

They baffle and confound, rolling me over, cutting my legs

I collapse near tears

And then a final rally that ends with a primal blast of expletives


That crosses the prime meridian.


Walking up hill with a smiling lab.

The nutty, muddy black from the coffee maker.

The science section of the New York Times.

A shovel.

The new king mattress in the bedroom.

My two daughters, grown and grounded.


These are the things to which I hitch my life.

Consistent and uniform and undeniable and complete.

Like the kiss of a new love.

Uncomplicated as the real estate market

Even a pea brain can complete.

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Boot heals snapping on a concrete sidewalk. Fearless on the train uptown. Undaunted by a cold winter in Harlem. Came here to the city of her