May 11, 2015: No Crows

He sits in the grass, smoking a pipe.

If you’re looking for someone to pull you out of that ditch, you’re out of luck.
I’d sell your heart to the junkman, baby.

He smiles a toothless smile. I can see straw poking through his gums.

God damn there’s always such a big temptation to be good…to be good.

The pipe falls from his mouth and he stops talking.
I stand there, waiting for him to continue speaking nonsense.
His eyes are open but they aren’t focused on anything.
I reach over to touch him, make sure he’s alright.
He’s not breathing.
His body feels soft- nearly empty.
He smells of hay.

I look around, wondering if anyone else saw his sudden slip from life.
I kick his feet, hoping for any reaction.
His head tips to the side.

I pick his pipe up from the grass, re-light it, and place it in his mouth, trying to give him a dignified sort of death-pose.

I was in love once…her name was Polly. But then my true self was exposed. I tore my shirt open, begged her to bury the dagger in my chest…but there was only barking dogs and parking taxis.

He moves the pipe around in his mouth. I couldn’t tell if he was laughing or sobbing.
A frog hopped near his foot.
He narrows his eyes into two slits.

There’s always free cheddar in the mousetrap. Remember that.
God’s away on business so let it ring, let it ring!

He’s yelling and laughing, swaying his arms.
The pipe falls from his mouth and he goes limp.
The frog winks at me and I leave.

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