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This writing was accepted for publication in the 84 page perfect-bound issue of cc&d (v239) (the December 2012 Issue) You can also order this 5.5" x 8.5" issue as an ISSN# paperback book:

Order this writing in the book Cheap Thrills cc&d 2012 collection book		get the 228 page Sept. - Dec. 2012 cc&d magazine issue collection 6" x 9" ISBN# paperback book:

Apparently, David

Michael Lee Johnson

There are categories of hell here.
Apparently
David died of
chronic liver disease
February 28, 2012.

Fact, I was a newspaper reporter.
I am a chronic drunk.

David’s drinking became his sin.
Sin is the crack of the Devil’s butt.
It tossed a good man into hell.
Dandelions faded with him when
the burning began.

His widow was a chronic bitch.
Locals called her “Nightmare Boogie.”

His wife of 14 years
celebrated his passing;
she pissed on his pictures.

She was simply a mindless fragment.

Her life was understated, full of fragments.

She got drunk on the night David died.
She thought it was butterscotch wine.
Confused, Cherry Lee, kept it simple;
she recognized the mix up,
it was butterscotch schnapps.

Either way, Cherry Lee helped
evaporate David’s heart.

There were no memorial services.

David’s ashes are still in a fruit box;
mounted on the top of her toilet bowl.

No urn, present or past tense.
No obituary, too late.

Only a label, a tag on the cinerary stating:
“this is David’s discount Funeral Home.”

There are no survivors here.

 

*Special note. This poem evolved from an email dialogue with Kim Fregia about David, her friend, before his untimely death. I’ve tried but haven’t been able to touch base with her since. Her original poem with my editing can be found at Itasca Illinois: Poetry & Willow Tree Dreams: http://itascaillinoispoetryman.moonfruit.com/#/poet4/4565348131.

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