Go All the Way

I walked into English, one morning at dawn

Starbucks in hand and face in a yawn

I was tired and sore on that day back in spring

In absolutely no mood to learn anything

I had no idea it would be the day

That Charles would tell me to go all the way

I saw some handouts, going ‘round in a stack

Took one for myself and passed the rest back

My tired eyes drooped as I read the title

Then widened as I saw the name of my idol

I read it again to ensure it would rouse me

“Roll the Dice” by Charles Bukowski

I was familiar with his cynical view of mankind

“Ham on Rye” had long been a favorite of mine

His alcoholism and self-sabotage

Were certainly no reason for applause

But though his story was often perverted

It showed there was hope for the insecure and introverted

Droning from the teacher would swiftly ensue

Biographical details I already knew

With no interest in my teacher’s pre-poem spiel

I started reading ahead to see what was the deal

I heard in my head Charles's gruff voice say

“If you’re going to try, go all the way.”

I finished the poem in ten seconds flat

Then I read it again, and again after that

As I sat there in English, wrapped in my spring coat

I couldn’t help but think of something Kerouac once wrote

“One day I will find the right words, and they will be simple.”

I believe Charles found them, in that 4 stanza hymnal

I then went to gym class; it was time for a run

Something, I must confess, I never found fun

I jogged slowly at first, in no hurry to finish

But then I remembered what I read back in English

I laced up my sneakers, and ran faster that day

Then anytime before I heard “go all the way”

There was a quiz in Calc- period 7 I knew

On something I hadn’t the slightest idea how to do

I went to the library, and parked my ass down

While my friends went and got lunch on the town

And when it came time to write my name on the quiz

I knew I was fighting the only good fight there is

I did this all spring and well into summer

To achieve what I wanted I often did suffer

Through heat waves and stress, news stories about Scott Pruitt

But all these were tests of how much I really wanted to do it

I wanted to quit, on occasions more than one

But I came out of it, as Kipling said “A man, my son”

My friends had made plans for the fourth of July

It sounded pretty fun, so I eagerly obliged

We were on my friend’s roof, every member of our squad

Was this what he meant, in being “alone with the gods”?

We were all cracking jokes, way up in the rafters

I was riding life straight into perfect laughter

The fireworks started at nine in the evening

I reminisced on everything I was achieving.

I sat, body slimmer, and GPA higher

And watched as the night flamed with fire

Though my vision was once clouded I can now see

And I owe it to the writing of Charles Bukowski