Poem for You

Poem by Bukowski

some people are young and nothing

else and

some people are old and nothing

else

and some people are in between and

just in between.

and if the flies wore clothes on their

backs

and all the buildings burned in

golden fire,

if heaven shook like a belly

dancer

and all the atom bombs began to 

cry,

some people would be young and nothing 

else and 

some people old and nothing

else and

some people old and nothing

else,

and the rest would be the same

the rest would be the same.

the few who are different are eliminated quickly enough

by the police, by their mothers, their

brothers, others; by 

themselves.

all that's left is what you

see.

it's

hard.