Bye for Now, Mama

she came to my back door

winters ago

with two kittens

in tow

i took them in

the vet said all three

had feline leukemia

the kittens passed

soon after

and mama took to

grooming me instead

licking my thinning hair

until strands of it

hung from her tongue

I would pet mama

and tell her she will

one day see her

babies again

and when I cried out

“Mama!” when the

nightmares came

as they’d come since

i was a child, mama cat

was the only one to run

to my side, lick my face,

and remind me that i

wasn’t motherless

after all

this went on

for several years

Until this morning

as i was leaving for

work, having already

counted my other cats

i then found mama

open eyed and on

her side partially covered

in her own urine

though she’d seemed fine

just yesterday

the vet said it might

have been a heart attack

I whispered goodbye

and told her

we will be together

again. And the pain now

Can’t be explained.

For her, and myself,

I prayed the

Rainbow Bridge prayer

and to St. Francis and

Jesus too, then I

searched for a Buddhist

prayer, and though

it spoke of animals

as being our mothers

in past lives,

it would have

me pray for her to be

reborn human, and I

love Mama too much

for that. She was and

still is my Mama

in this life.

–fb

Even the Beggars Were Better Then

Driving home down

the dark city streets

after dumping the

cat food behind

the fast food place

I’m accosted at

the light by a beggar

with his massive hand out

he puts his dreadful

face too close to my

window and smiles

when he sees the

empty cat food bag

perhaps thinking I’m

an easy mark. I look

at the red light ahead

he knocks on my window

It’s not that

I dislike people of the

streets. It’s just that

entitled attitude coming off

a pure pest that keeps

the wallet closed. I’ve read of

times when street people

entertained first, then asked:

the Rev Gary Davis finger-

picking his big Gibson

Humming bird, preaching of

Salvation; Blind Boy

Fuller picking happy ragtime

tunes and singing of sin

back in the 20s and 30s…

of course guys like that

weren’t beggars, but even

if the one at my window

were trying to do something

instead

of acting like his grizzled

face alone deserved mercy

in a world like this, I’d send

a few bucks his way. But

that being not the case

I’ll save it for the strippers

and the cats

thank you

very much

fyodor bukowski, author of Mail Order Annie on Amazon

Nice People

We all stood by the door

Waiting for it to open

So we could get in

Out of the cold

And start our

Impossible jobs

The other wage slaves

Chatted merrily

About everything

Trivial and permitted

As they always did

Because they were nice

And I stood glumly by

Wondering why they

Were alive

One of the nicest of them

Gushed at a skinny cat

That appeared at his feet

He bent down and petted it

And said it was a nice cat

I cursed under my breath

Stared into the snow

Then went to my car and popped

The glove compartment

And took the can of cat food

From off of the gun and

Headed back to the shivering

Mass of slaves

And the cat

I opened the can

And dumped the food but

The cat wouldn’t eat

A middle aged liberal woman

cooed at the cat

While the guy who’d been

Petting it stood up and said

Somebody should take the

Cat. The liberal lady turned

Away and continued the

inane and safe conversation

she’d

Been leading before. I though

Of my small place and five

Cats and asked the nice people

If one of them would take

Him or her

Most stared at the door

A few made lame excuses

As nice people do

I petted the cat and looked

For a tag

there wasn’t one

The door opened and the

Slaves filed in. I scruffed

The cat, carried her to the

Car and put her under a

Coffee-stained

Blanket covering the

Coffee stains on the passenger

Seat. I waited until lunch

Then drove her to

To my ramshackle place

With a No Nice People

Sign on the front door


–Fyodor Bukowski

Buy my book, you cheap bastards:

my book

Couldn’t

Had a poem in mind–

Real life with a theme,

But I just couldn’t

Type it up for you

Tonight. I’ve had too

Many at this titty bar

Tonight to type it up

For you right. I feel that

Soft music inside me,

As I drink these pale

Ales and do dance after

Dance with a baby-faced

little black dancer who

Sees me as a creepy-assed

Cracker even though I

Drive 20 miles to feed

Stray cats. You’d think

That if God was good

He’d make old guys

Love old girls, but it’s

Not like that. I’m spending

Har-earned cracka cash

On a five foot Bratz doll

Black girl who’s Betty Boop

Lashes and plushy ass make

Me feel alright for now even

Though my readers never

Buy my novel and I’m

Doomed to hell with no

Deliverance in sight.

The Kingdom is Within

This might just be

The closest thing

To a feel-good

Xmas missive

As you’ll ever get

From a guy with

A pen-name like

Mine: I consider

My Christmas as

Having begun

After work on the

Friday before the

Holiday itself. On

The way home to

My roof-leaking

“Mobile Home,” I

Pulled into the

“Executive’s Den,”

Where hardly an

Executive ever

Roams, but among

The dancers there

Who didn’t do much

To raise my Christmas

Cheer, I spied a doll-faced

Brunette with rockabilly

Tattoos covering only

Part of her Santa-sized

Ass. She sat curiously

Alone at the bar, so after

Having been propositioned

By a few of the others, I

Went up to the brunette

And asked for a dance.

And she was good

Enough to raise the

Lazarus moldering

In my shorts. She also

Claimed to have saved

A kitten in traffic, which

Raised her stock in my

Book too. Well, as I paid

Out the going rate there,

10 bucks a dance

(I’d been there only a week

Before) plus a cheery tip,

She held up the bills and

Said, “But this is only 65.00.

It’s 20 a dance.” I smiled and

Inquired when they’d changed

The price. She said only a little

While ago and added that all

All the girls there charge 20.

Well, I scrounged up the

Difference. I’d heard this

Song before. But she had

Delivered the dances, and

I hadn’t asked about her

Price first. Of course, after-

Wards I learned that no one

Else there at the time charged

20.00, and the house price

Hadn’t changed at all. I’m

Not mad though. This

Morn, as I approached

One of my makeshift

Homeless cat shelters

In the hood,

Several kittens ran out.

I emptied the bag of

Cat food, then I stuffed

Some fresh straw in the

Shelter. And I’d 

Managed to do it all without

Getting caught. I know that

Karma and heaven are myths,

But seeing those kitties snug

In the shelter made me feel

Good. “The Kingdom of

Heaven is within,” as Mr.

Christmas said, and his

“Father’s house has many

Mansions,” too, and one of

Those mansions has a

Leaky-roof, another has

A makeshift shelter full

Of homeless cats, while

Another has a lovely,

Lying strip-club dancer

Whose rockabilly

Rear-end

Raises the dead. The

Kingdom of Heaven

Is within.

— FB

Buy my book on Amazon: Mail-Order Annie by Fyodor Bukowski.

Garbage Cat (for Alex)

One of his eyes was

pale. He had a bad

snaggle tooth, and he

was one big cat.

The trailer park tards

called him “Garbage

Cat” because he lived

out of the dumpsters.

The neighbor lady

started putting cat food out

on her porch. Sometimes I’d

watch Alex head there with

two small, black cats.

What struck me most

was the way he’d let

the little ones eat first,

and the way he’d growl

low and mean if you tried

to get too close. Then the

lady told me that the

manager was poisoning

strays. She and I both already

had cats, so I used her trap

and took Alex and his two

pals to a no-kill shelter where

he tested positive for the cat-

version of AIDS. Luckily, there

was a big, exclusive room there

for cats with that. It was furnished

with a couch, litter boxes, and toys.

Volunteers came to pet the cats and

clean. Alex became a celebrity there.

He lived well for over ten years,

and when he finally grew too thin

and tired, and didn’t want to eat,

I walked into his room, held him,

and said, “Goodbye for now.”

 

— Fyodor Bukowski, author of Mail-Order Annie (A Story of Passion and Compassion) : Mail-Order Annie

A Good Way to Die

My favorite death scene

is when “The Motorcycle Boy”

in RUMBLEFISH breaks into

the pet store at night to free

these fighting fish. While he’s

doing it, he mutters something

about the fish, how they won’t

need to fight, if they just can

make it to the river. Now the

motorcycle boy, played by

Mickey Rourke, knows that

the pet store is guarded by

this hard ass cop who’s had

it out for him for him for a

good long time, so when the

“boy” is gunned down in the

street with that fish tank in

his arms, we get the idea

that he was ready for end

and even wanted it to go

that way.

Now I’ve been thinking

of another good way to

make a final exit, say

there’s this guy who feeds

stray cats and he’s really

pissed because the only

others who seem to care

are mostly older ladies

whose maternal urges have

been displaced onto hapless cats.

Now say this guy is mad about

more than just how society

regards cats, so when he goes

to feed them, or change the straw

in the makeshift shelter he’s built,

he’s strapped with a .38 on his side.

And say that one day (or night)

he feels that his light is spent, so

he really takes his time

pouring out the dry food and

laying the wet food over it, then

arranging the straw in the shelter

just right, until finally, some cow-faced

fool comes hoofing out of his castle of

commerce or over-mowed  back yard

and yells something like, “Hey, quit feeding

those cats!” So then our cat-guy pulls his

revolver, aims it, and blows a big hole out

the back of cow face’s fat head.

Then our hero waits for the cops to

arrive, while his hands are shaking,

because this isn’t some movie directed

by Francis Ford Coppola, and he’s just

not as cool as The Motorcycle Boy, and

he knows what comes next; but still he

has no regrets. He’s even relieved, feels

he’s chosen his end well, even if only a

few can see it that way.

 

by Fyodor Bukowski

Check out his novel MAIL-ORDER ANNIE (A Story of Passion and Compassion).