What happened to that me

Who picked up old receipts

Off the road half-expecting

To see messages from God

Written on them

Or that me who rode my mini-bike

Past the lovely girl’s house

Dozens of times a day

Half expecting to see her

Walk down that long driveway

To wave me into her life

Or that me who got into that old

Nash Rambler with my half-psycho

Father every Sunday to suffer his

Lies and cigarette smoke and farts?

What happened to that me who prayed

for a UFO to land in my backyard to

take me to a planet full of honest

full-time fathers, a God who spoke

directly to all who called,

and a lovely girl with my name

In her heart?

— Fyodor Bukowski

Read my novel on Amazon.

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