I would like to off myself,
be a folk hero,
you know
that person they talk about
around the festive holiday,
old gramps ignores the dialogue,
‘tell me about his brother’
they would say,
and dad would then purse his lips
and speak of some seedy hotel in Florida,
he never named the city,
because then that would make the city
more real and attainable
then an entire state
filled with city hotels,
seedy ones you know.
They found him,
dead on the mattress,
no romantic ending
just a couple of bottles or rye
no note
no pajamas
the bedding hadn’t even been turned
his body spread eagled,
one bottle laying in the corner
the other looked methodically
dropped out of his passed out hand.
I suppose the coroner
would have looked him in the eye
and said something like
“i’never seen a more peaceful looking corpse”
he’d found his end,
the battle won
a seedy hotel in Florida,
wearing khaki’s and a white t-shirt
not exactly dressed for the beach.
of course this was locked inside the mainland,
the ocean miles away, would have just made waves.
apersonaljourney - stories of love 