Fifteen Minutes

In the fifteen minutes

you claimed would elapse

before you arrived at my house

wearing a tuxedo,

I read Charles Bukowski

and saw the December boat parade.

Before you arrived, I heard blow horns

punctuate the salsa CD

spinning in my bedroom.

I read about Bukowski’s cats,

both of them,

and their sanity

in the late hours of the night.

My fingers,

all ten of them,

this eager to type

This Early in the Night.

Written 2005

At the end of the day, I write this for myself. So

Wise men have been prescribing the same medicine for centuries… From

Blogging is a real religion. It is how I feel small