He kicks
The ball
Down the Alleys
Hoping that one
Will take him out
Into the grass
So the world
Can see him
And then he stops
And stares at the wall
At the dead end
At the end dead
With his dreams at his bare feet
Full of air.

There we were at Marty’s funeral. He had died four days ago and no one knew until the smell became unbearable and the neighbors complained. Marty never really smelt that great when he was alive either. His wife had been out of town and she didn’t take it well. We all sent her flowers.
Now it [...]