Nor Be Forgotten

For lack of a better response

upon opening his final Christmas gift

he mentally calculates 

how much of a mess it'd make

if he were to spontaneously explode 

of irony

in that crowded living room:

Considering that the adult human male

is 60% water

and that his six feet weigh 240 lbs

he estimates the blast radius

and volume of red goo

dousing the walls, ceiling, furniture, floor

and mostly innocent family members.

The projected matter

lucky enough to land in the fireplace

would cook off slowly

its sizzling sound serving

as an eerie counterpart

to the silence of astonished relatives

coated in what'd remain

of a man they somewhat knew

who'd just unwrapped a framed photo

of himself, alone on a fishing boat

after nearly dying nightly

from a year of solitude.

Centering his stance on his sea legs

he thanks his well-meaning bestower

extends the frame's stand

to face his grinning countenance

for half a glass of wine

then walks the gift of a lifetime

to the trunk of his father's car

lest it be forgotten

in the revelry to follow

though knowing himself

he's not one to forget.

Currently reading:

"Raymond Carver:  Collected Stories"