A Logical Obituary

So you’ve died—

ravaged at 47 and dead like a fool.

We’ve anticipated this notice for a decade.

I smoked a cigarette for you, paced and paused

as it dwindled with each breath.

It’s summer humid, early morning,

and the morgue examiners have your body.

A smiling, easy thief

every hand you gripped, that gripped you

was a con meant to pass you forward.

I don’t recall a party you weren’t laughing

or passing the dinner check as you left.

We shared three secrets for survival,

the truth between grifter and mark—

and nothing more.