Some People

By Charles Bukowski

some people never go crazy.

me, sometimes I'll lie down behind the couch

for 3 or 4 days.

they'll find me there.

it's Cherub, they'll say, and

they pour wine down my throat

rub my chest

sprinkle me with oils.

then, I'll rise with a roar,

rant, rage -

curse them and the universe

as I send them scattering over the

lawn.

I'll feel much better,

sit down to toast and eggs,

hum a little tune,

suddenly become as lovable as a

pink

overfed whale.

some people never go crazy.

what truly horrible lives

they must lead.