picking Jake up at 7-11

it was a few years ago

when

i drove

Jake to the hospital because

he was spitting up

blood.

lung cancer that was spreading

like a wildfire.

he died a year

later,

on Christmas day.

i visited him

that Christmas eve

and brought him a pack

of cigarettes

and a pint of 
Southern comfort,

his favorite.

he asked

me if i had any winter

work

coming up.

he'd be out of there in no

time.

just as soon as they took

the bandages

off that were

wrapped around his head

because of the brain

operation.

i told him, sure.

of course.

i'll pick you up at the 7-11

around eight.

the day after new years.

don't be late.