7
The chronically depressed photographer
Writing about a former work mate
whose where-a-abouts are
now unknown to me.
You were a white flower
who sang Beatles songs
& danced in the news
room while wide-ass
people wrote
obituaries &
frowned
They smiled at your despair
those who wrote of death
asked me to go to your
apartment & give you
money they collected
for your well being
when you didn't
show up for work
Your place smelled
like cat piss & peanut butter
I could almost see the dead
brain in your skull
as I slipped the
envelope of
$5's & $10's
under your
door
I am married and live in Des Moines, Iowa.
I have three children. I owned a newspaper and
also worked for one. I have written five plays
that have been performed locally and regionally.
I currently work for a local school district.
