the last thing that he wrote

as he lies

there, as if in some blissful

slumber,

a midsummer

nap,

they reach into his shirt

pocket

to find a list.

a grocery list

of what he was to buy

before

the day was over.

eggs,

milk, cereal and bread.

detergent.

light bulbs,

and apples.

the mundane

things that keep trains

on time.

it's the last thing that he

wrote

before he died.

not a story

or poem, not the outline

of a joke.

no anecdotes,

or rhymes,

just this.

this grocery list.