He died that night
In a cheap motel
In Maryville Tennessee
$35.00 Karma mixed with
The smell of curry
Coming from the front office
No one would ever understand
Why he chose to die here
Especially those few
Who claimed to know him well
The gravel parking lot
The towels
You could see through
And the lawn chairs inside
For furniture
Made the connection, and the
Endless search
Real
In a way it hadn’t been before
As he sat outside his room
Thinking about the end
The local construction workers
Remembered his name
As they called out to him
At the end of their day
Marking their time
By a weekly rate
In their rooms down the hall
They remembered the little things
His own family
Had forgotten
Or not so little

AND THEN HE DIED

In his $35.00 motel room
His fortune just buried memory
With its headstone forever blank

(Newport Tennessee: April, 2013)