think how often I’ve been bamboozled
by life, how I’ve dropped a quarter in a slot machine
and instead of cherries got coffins. Got death?
Yeah, I’ve seen the grim reaper wander
my neighborhood in a Chanel suit with a diamond-
studded scythe because we all want to be overdressed
for the afterlife, we all want to believe
there is a special place for us. But when I watched
the body of my nana fade into thinness I thought,
Please let me leave early—by plane crash, car accident,
lightning bolt—don’t let me hold on so long
I am a body longing for someone to text it
—Hey babe, I’m kind of into you. To say, I miss you
even though I don’t visit. Death and we butt-dial
the wrong person. Death on a good drunk
of port.
I remember my dad once saying,
You are worth more than you think, as I always sold myself
at a discount, and I wish I didn’t, I wish I didn’t
say how much I hurt on social media
but sometimes I just want to believe I’m not alone
like how we’re all doing cartwheels on life’s grass
until someone lands in a sinkhole, until one of us
decides it’s late and the streetlights
are telling us it’s time to return back home.
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