for decades in the desert.
He'd been separating fools
from their money
and their lives.
He'd been praying late at night
for redemption like Jane Fonda
cackling into coughing fits
uncured by arid air.
They found him in his cabin--
allocated isolation.
No one wanted organs
despite his donor status.
The burial was brief
fifth-rate gods in trite attendance.
Smoking lost its cool this week.
The Marlboro Man is dead.
No comments:
Post a Comment