70spoems/peter*

Dear Peter
where are you,
my letter returned
your phone disconnected,
I heard you were
working at the p.o.
I see you from time
to time in print,
some cheap papered
poetry rag, page 7 or 8.
I hate to think
you poet postal clerk,
Dear Peter,
Charles Bukowski
wears silk underwear
and has his nails
manicured,
the whole thing
a lie and swindle
dear, dear Peter
where are you?

7/6/76