d.o.a.

My gratitude goes to Al Markowitz and the working class at Blue Collar Review for publishing this piece.

you’re already gone

when we arrive

my partner confirms this

with narrow eyes

so i box up the defibrillator

and mark your passing

with open palms

you, a perfect stranger

and me

watching blood soak

into concrete with

rorschach potential:

a praying jesus, a busted lip

your eyes gone cloudy

emptied

like wednesday’s trash

your mouth shaped with

unexpected fear

the quiet oh

of a stifled yawn, unwilling

to acknowledge

the caducity of being alive