Is This Scary or Poetry


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.