The Trash Can

 The Trash Can,

Charles Bukowski

this is great, I just wrote two

poems I didn’t like.

there is a trash can on this

computer.

I just moved the poems

over

and dropped them into

the trash can.

they’re gone forever, no

paper, no sound, no

fury, no placenta

and then

just a clean screen

awaits you.

it’s always better

to reject yourself before

the editors do.

especially on a rainy

night like this with

bad music on the radio.

and now—

I know what you’re

thinking:

maybe he should have

trashed this

misbegotten one

also.

ha, ha, ha,

ha.