today only one SASE: typed
letter from a woman with “Editor” near her name
though I know she’s spent the bulk
of her life otherwise—came to this mag because her mother
ran it before she (the mother) expired

anyway she (the daughter) rejected
my third & fifth “To Buk” poems
both long since accepted & published
both long since withdrawn from her by me
yet she somehow found herself
gifted with time enough to type me a letter—“We like
the writing, but are looking
for more than a response to Bukowski”—
as if her readers
(if any exist) truly care
about the moon & the taste of eggplant more than they
do you

she also typed: (“And how
does he manage to get so much published, and his
books everywhere?”) thus suggesting she’s both comma-
happy & clueless about your death

an ignorance I couldn’t
fathom during all of my walk home

maybe she was born just after you passed
a very young woman who grew up hearing about Buk
never herself living any of that oddly silent
day in that March

which if true tells you & me
we’re certainly not the kids we once were

though probably you’ve long since
lived with that