My Last Visit

Cold meat covered in thin white cotton.
One foot protrudes.
Mouth agape, drools silently.
Teeth removed, stored neatly on the roll-away table.

As if you might get warm,
or wake up and need to chew.
Sourness—a look or a feeling? I’m
not sure. Mislabeled television controls.
I’ll see what I can do to fix this
error.

Published in little bang, Volume 1, Number 1, 2008