Charles Bukowski-Trashcan Lives

The wind blows hard tonight
and it's a cold wind
and i think about,
the boys on the row.
I hope some of them have a bottle
of red.
it's when you're on the row
that you notice that 
everything
is owned
and that there locks on
everything.
this is the way a democracy 
works:
you get  what you can,
try to keep that
and add it
if possible.
this is the way a dictatorship 
works too
only their either enslave or
destroy their
derelicts.
we just forget ours.
in either case 
it's a hard 
cold 
wind.