Andy Poem by kendall thomas

Your grave is on a hillside
overlooking a residential area
in Pittsburg.

If you could sit here, as I,
with your back against cold stone,
you could watch the little people
come and go.

Wouldn’t that be a hellish way
to spend eternity after the high life?

They put a rose in your hand,
shades over your eyes,
a platinum wig on your head
and a bottle of perfume beside you:
“Beautiful”.

I wonder who will remember you or any of us
When the last ounce is gone?