mhall46184@aol.com
Soulfight in a Locked Room
In the end, they had to break into his room
He was dead in his chair, and quite alone
Self-exiled from his family for years
Alone in a shell, silent, and alone
The accidentals of life were cast away:
A coffee pot, a coat over a door
His schedule for the methadone clinic
A note to meet with his parole officer
But the pathologist’s tox screen was clean -
Better than most of us, he went down fighting
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