every man
and woman
parts from
this place
some sooner
than others
some with
grace
others face
an executioner
but really
death
is the same
for everyone
who goes down
but the
convicts have it
right,
they get a last meal
and this would be mine
ribs that sat on a
wisconsin wood
all day while i listened
to good music with
good friends
and didn’t have to
put up with
any death storms this time
my dad’s potato soup
in the middle of
another
cold prescott winter
fried chicken from
sanford iga, i don’t know
what they do there,
with that chicken,
but the colonel should
call em
i’d sit one last time
at the oak, and watch
them argue while
they cook up my last
hot wings, i won’t eat
them there
cuz i gotta be in that chair,
next to the dog,
next to the radio,
out in the den
and for desert
windmill crackers
and tang
one last time.
