You reading that Bukowski again?
She says.
Why are you reading about that drinking
Fool of a man
With his whores and lowlifes
And brawling talk
And gambling bullshit?
And all his women
Who screw him no matter what!

Why? She screams.

A pot of spinach cooks
Slowly on the gas ring.

He keeps me company,
I reply,

For times just like this.