Recently, I came across a poem by a man named Charles Bukowski. It’s worded as follows:
Friendly Advice to a Lot of Young Men
Go to Tibet
Ride a camel.
Read the bible.
Dye your shoes blue.
Grow a beard.
Circle the world in a paper canoe.
Subscribe to The Saturday Evening Post.
Chew on the left side of your mouth only.
Marry a woman with one leg and shave with a straight razor.
And carve your name in her arm.
Brush your teeth with gasoline.
Sleep all day and climb trees at night.
Be a monk and drink buckshot and beer.
Hold your head under water and play the violin.
Do a belly dance before pink candles.
Kill your dog.
Run for mayor.
Live in a barrel.
Break your head with a hatchet.
Plant tulips in the rain.
But don’t write poetry.
I don’t really care for this poem. Nevertheless, the following endeavor takes inspiration from it, with a bit more sincerity sprinkled in:
Tell that Girl
Tell that girl that you really care about her.
Tell that girl that you’re a happier person when she’s around.
Tell that girl that you haven’t been able to find the right words to ask whether she’d want to spend more time with you and you’re sorry it’s taken you so long to find your courage.
Tell that girl that the movie she recommended IS, in fact, on your list.
Tell that girl that you used to really be into doing low-risk parkour.
Tell that girl that you bought a new chess board and lost all the rooks.
Tell that girl that you can’t remember what calamari tastes like even though you know you’ve had it several times.
Tell that girl that, with a little elbow grease, any old barn can be a church.
Tell that girl that your heart hasn’t raced like this since that time you took mushrooms and that gnarled tree kept telling you to gather up all your valuables and move them to Denmark.
Tell that girl that a man named Walter stands at the end of your driveway every Thursday at 7:00am, on the dot, shouting to the neighborhood, asking if anyone has the time to spare to listen to his story. You’ve heard his story before, but it makes him happy to retell it. It makes him feel alive. It reminds him what it truly means to be acknowledged by a peer, maybe even important, but at least heard. Telling that story brings a light out of him, an aged light present only in those who’ve lived nearly a full life. It is a refined wisdom, sparsely accessed from within a now-fragile vessel, yet no less valuable due to inconsistency or a frail outer shell. You listened to him the first time because his cry reached you, unexpectedly, piercing through hesitance and doubt. Something compelled you to act differently that day. God knows you’d ignored him countless times before. And you’re glad you went out there, because despite the pairing of odd timing and intimidating delivery, Walter was human after all. There was comfort in that, comfort found in a once-thought impediment; a dilemma turned interest. And you realized something that day: That it had taken no effort. When you’d made the decision to change, you learned that it’s not hard to pay attention to something you care about.
Tell that girl that she looks nice.
OK, if you need me, I’ll be playing in my sandbox.
Willie Rambles 
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