Last Letter to An Open Door
I wonder how it will feel after they bite you
And then you fall asleep in front of the news
Showing the oil refinery on fire and then cutting
To surveillance footage from the circle K
Of the clerk fighting off two men who don’t
Stop attacking him until the floor around
The coffee island is an ocean of red-red
Sticky sugar syrup in thick plastic patterns
And then you just die, expire, pass on,
A swirling set of footsteps up through
The dark place where memories don’t matter
Any more. Go ahead now, look for
The kids upstairs, your wife who took
Out the trash a few days ago and never
Got around to putting the pork chops
Away and now they smell up the house
Something rotten. Or is now you,
Freshly up from the chair with stiff jerks
The way you felt sorry for your grandfather
Who had the hardest time getting up
From that La-Z-Boy before he died, but
Not before you helped him once, arm
Under arm and he turned his yellow
Teeth and spat at you to let him the fuck
Go, and yellow toothed you buried him
Under a sky like a lid laid down over
The rest of the world as if it were a
Sample of bacteria in a dish. And the lights
Are still on and the clock on the wall
Is still clicking out the movement into
The future and the white doily under
The lamp is dusty and you get to the door
And can still manage to get it open
And then you leave out into the night
Where there is a general sense of urgency
To find something to eat, anything to eat.
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