Uncle Butch was the life of the party.
Died of a stopped-up heart.
Too many steaks and pork chops.
Too many beers and shots.
He died of a stopped-up heart.
The relatives came to his mother’s.
She said no to the beers and the shots,
so they played stud all night, with wild cards.
His friends also came to his mother’s,
wanting his pearl-handled guns.
Played poker with lots of wild cards
with hard-eyed women in bars.
She gave them the pearl-handled guns.
He’d been married, but couldn’t stay married
to hard-eyed women in bars.
His cousin, a nurse, had rode with him.
They were closer than if they’d been married
in the ambulance for 90 miles.
The cousin, the nurse riding with him,
her mouth black and bruised, CPR.
The ambulance wails 90 miles
but all those steaks and those chops –
his heart black and bruised, CPR.
Uncle Butch was the life of the party.
Of Rust and Glass, July 2024. First published by A Year in Ink