His Last Supper

For 48 hours, strangers paraded up cold, 

concrete steps, investigating a lifetime 

of collectibles, fishing lures, marina sketches, chopped 

bits of animal pelts he had placed inside boxes 

like trophies. Dusty books about ancient aliens, 

Yukon prostitutes, and PCs for Dummies 

bordered the edges of each room, showing off 

those subjects that had consumed his mind 

in private. The procession continued after the burial,

each visitor anxious to get their hands on a piece 

of his life’s work, odd figurines, food choppers, Hummels 

with missing body parts, and miscellaneous books 

on how to be a millionaire in secret. 

A blue-haired lady wearing a tight 

bun gaped in disgust. The man who’d fed her family 

40 years of fish dinners was a disgrace, his home gutted, 

his skeletons laid out on the table for all of the hungry 

bargain hunters to see.

--Linda G. Hatton