The stale decade sat out,
collected grime,
got buried in the mud,
and finally was chewed on
and spit back out by worms
after the ants and flies
gave up
on the body that sat out
too long;
Like the thanksgiving turkey
after you fall asleep,
forgetting the carcass
and all that good white meat.
My twenties stank
like asparagus on exit—
and then flush,
I was thirty— doubling
and then tripling my output.
The verdict on me isn’t in yet—
but having conquered corpses and piss,
I can’t imagine it will get much worse—
but what concerns me most
is that I just wrote this
and I’m already beginning to smell
dead fish.
I guess it’s time to clean the fridge,
take out the trash, or both.

narrative poem written on 01-27-2011 by: on mattkane.com
view image of poem


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