Charles Bukowski

our laughter is muted by their agony

as the child crosses the street as deep sea divers
dive as the painters paint—
the good fight against terrible odds is the vin-
dication and the glory as the swallow rises toward
the moon—
it is so dark now with the sadness of
they were tricked, they were taught to expect the
ultimate when nothing is
now young girls weep alone in small rooms
old men angrily swing their canes at
visions as
ladies comb their hair as
ants search for survival
history surrounds us
and our lives
slink away