I live in respectable chaos in my house.
the respectable chaos has grown to be my best friend,
after my collection of Charles Bukowski books.

women come and go in the house but the chaos and Bukowski
are as dependable as the sun coming up every morning
until Cherise moves in and decides to tame the wild beast in me and my house.

Cherise’s first project is scrubbing, disinfecting and lobotomizing
the bathroom until I am reluctant to puncture the pristine
look of the newly created bathroom- museum
by using the toilet.

the kitchen is soon fit for everything but eating since Cherise constantly
complains that I am prone to leave peanut butter prints and a
beer bottle or six in the kitchen so I now retreat to my office to eat alone .

the bedroom is much cleaner now with the always vacuumed rug,
but pulling up the sheets, pillows and spread every morning
seems a waste of time since we use them again every night.

one morning I wake up with a start at 6 a.m. and find Cherise
washing the walls and checking the house for dust after her
usual 10 p.m. check for dust the night before.

I draw the line when Cherise preaches my Bukowski room
is a waste of space and my Bukowski books are a
waste of money better spent on a new roof.

I reluctantly agree on a new roof and picking up after myself
to keep what’s left of the growing uncomfortable peace between us .

when it rains, the new roof leaks, causing the ceiling to collapse.
the first room I run into is not the bedroom to check on Cherise’s safety
but the Bukowski room to check on my true love, my Bukowski collection.
I clean up after Bukowski.

Cherise, being a clean house lover and not a lover of Bukowski, is inflamed
when I clumsily say, ”The Bukowski collection
is the most important part of my life”.

Cherise starts screaming, “What about me! What about me! All you do is
read Bukowski, collect Bukowski and write vulgar poetry like Bukowski.
I’ve had it. It’s either me or Bukowski. Make your choice.”

I do not hesitate a millisecond.
Bukowski is better company and is not demanding like Cherise.
very important to me, Bukowski never lectures me
about the secret of loading the dishwasher properly.
I choose life. I choose Bukowski.

it takes time but soon my mind and home go back
to the rhythm of respectable chaos.
one winter night I smile as I sit back reading Bukowski, while drinking wine
from a milk glass, and eating a peanut butter sandwich
with apple on a paper plate,
having thrown out the fine crystal goblets and china with Cherise.

I am tempted to pass wind to celebrate my
newfound peace and contentment but it will take me
a bit longer to get back to normal.