if you know what movie this is from you win a corn dog
we drove past the corner of 21st and Monroe—
you know, by the Sinclair gas station with the good corn dogs
(good by definition of gas station food)—
three cop cars and one ambulance and one stretcher
and one guy in handcuffs. Oh and someone else on the stretcher,
in a bag. The corn dogs come in a bag, also.
They are not very fresh, but can be made decent
by a microwave and a greasy white paper bag.
This body bag was white, too, and the man in handcuffs
stood casually with his weight on his left side, right foot
up on the curb, talking to a policeman like you would
the man who hands you the corn dog (seventy five cents). At first
we pretended like the body wasn’t even there, like
it hadn’t happened. Death had never been that close,
ten feet away and next to a gas station and right as the sunset
was getting to the good part and how is that fair? That’s all I kept thinking—I hope their last sunset was this good,
I hope they weren’t sorry. And the ambulance’s lights were still on,
but it wasn’t in a hurry.
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