omari got there first
he heard the engine running in the garage: an old
generator with an orange
cord plugged in
he followed it down the hallway and all the way
to the back bathroom
where a small tv was propped
upon the toilet: good morning america
and an old man dead on the floor
in a dingy overcoat
mouth
half open, white spittle
on the corners
that was two years ago
december
and i still haven't figured out whether
you intended to kill yourself
either way
i guess it doesn't matter: it's over and no one
seems to care
anymore
but sometimes i still do think about
you
huddled in the bathroom that night
struggling to keep warm
as christmas approached, another one, and alone again
another
night
another impossibility to add to all the others
not bothering
to open the windows
or doors
but waiting
in the bathroom
while the bitter fumes crept silently
across the air.
