Charles Bukowski, Crappy Life

crappy or not, with grapefruit juice, vodka and a cigarette
and nothing much to worry about it could be worse,
so it must be good as it is.
my smoker's cough disturbs the present a bit.
small things, i forget them.
what is past, is past. i see no use in digging there.
on the future: i will die.
so far, so clear.
why not live now and stretch my legs and my mind?