No Mother’s pride and joy.
Nobody’s hero.
My companion is the bottom of a bottle.
Sixth Street is home.
Next stop: General Hospital.
Resplendently conveyed on a stainless steel pedestal, under marquee lights.
I am the star.
Unclaimed refuse.
So scatter my ashes over Sixth and Folsom,
and let the rain carry my troubles out to the big blue sea—
the nursery where it all began.