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By Robert Jay

Been wanting to come here for a while now
But what makes it more memorable is
Watching a family sitting by another marker
While their child runs and dances around the plots,
Happy and irreverent
Or how someone else is unseen but heard playing
A sweet and mournful saxophone solo
To a loved one

From where I am
This well-trod beer soaked green grass
Doesn’t mean a thing
For years now
Booze has seeped through the soil and
Dripped down to these unquenched bones
That could care less

A better way to be closer to Bukowksi
Might be to read one of his books
Maybe read one of his poems
Out loud to yourself
What am I doing here?
I don’t even like graveyards

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