Wednesday, January 5, 2011

Why not take all of me?

I ticked the box and let it be; considered it for but a moment and then tried not to think of it ever again. Because, really, what do I care what they do when I’m gone? Hose me down and prop me up in the last suit I’ll ever own. Scoop me out and serve it all up to anyone who will take the stuff, whoever might want my fatty liver, my kiddlies, my lights—just make sure you fry up the rest so that there’s nothing left over for some cheeky soul to inflict upon me one last indignity.

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