The house Charles Bukowski

They are building a house
Half a block down
And I sit up here
With the shades down
Listening to the sounds
The hammers pounding in nails
Thack thack thack thack
And then I hear birds
And thack thack thack
And I go to bed
I pull the covers to my throat;
They have been building this house
For a month, and soon it will have
Its people...sleeping, eating
Loving, moving around
But somehow
Now
It is not right
There seems a madness
Men walk on top with nails
In their mouths
And I read about Castro and Cuba
And at night I walk by
And the ribs of the house show
And inside I can see cats walking
The way cats walk
And then a boy rides by on a bicycle
And still the house is not done
And in the morning the men
Will be back
Walking around on the house
With their hammers
And it seems people should not build houses
Anymore
It seems people should not get married
Anymore
It seems people should stop working
And sit in small rooms
On 2nd floors
Under electric lights without shades;
It seems there is a lot to forget
And a lot not to do
And in drugstores, markets, bars
The people are tired, they do not want
To move, and I stand there at night
And look through this house and the
House does not want to be built;
Through its sides I can see the purple hills
And the first lights of evening
And it is cold
And I button my coat
And I stand there looking through the house
And the cats stop and look at me
Until I am embarrassed
And move North up the sidewalk
Where I will buy
Cigarettes and beer
And return to my room