Are You Drinking? a poem by Charles Bukowski.

Post 658 - Are You Drinking? by Charles Bukowski.

washed-up, on shore, the old yellow notebook

out again

I write from the bed

as I did last

year.

will see the doctor,

Monday.

"yes, doctor, weak legs, vertigo, head-

aches and my back 

hurts."

"are you drinking?" he will ask.

"are you getting your
exercise, your

vitamins?"

I think that I am just ill 

with life, the same stale yet

fluctuating

factors.

even at the track

I watch the horses run by

and it seems

meaningless.

I leave early after buying tickets on the

remaining races.

"taking off?" asks the motel 

clerk.

"yes, it's boring,"

I tell him.

"If you think it's boring 

out there," he tells me, "you oughta be

back here."

so here I am

propped up against my pillows

again

just an old guy

just an old writer

with a yellow

notebook.

something is 

walking across the

floor

toward 

me.

oh, it's just 

my cat

this

time.