First published in Picaroon Poetry, issue 5
Nominated for the Sundress Publications Best of the Net Award 2017

They say that when you die,
the last sense to go is your hearing.
Can you imagine that?

Collapsing to the ground, helpless,
and after the gurgling death rattle,
you hear a bystander calling out,

Oh, fucking hell.

He’s dead.
He’s dead.
He’s dead.

Can you imagine that?

It’s enough to keep you up at night.

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