CONFESSION by Charles Bukowski
waiting for death like a cat
that will jump on the bed
I am so very sorry for my wife
she will see this stiff white body
shake it once, then maybe again
Hank won't answer.
it's not my death that worries me,
it's my wife left with this pile of nothing.
I want to let her know
though that all the nights sleeping
beside her even the useless
arguments were things ever splendid
and the hard words I ever feared to say can now be said:
I love you.