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Inventory Post-Mortem

Updated on December 1, 2009

Inventory Post- Mortem



A small scar squats

an ugly slash

that mars his now cold flesh,

tattooed there by a bullet

where healing didn't mesh.

A souvenir of wartime

when his breath of life was fresh.

His eyes stare blankly upward

with that empty three mile stare

much like two glistening marbles

each reflecting nothing there.

Hands rough and calloused from hard work

no rich man's fingers these

and prayers brought tough spots also

to the flesh atop his knees.

His face still held the lines of

character that's seldom seen

someone who believed in fighting

for other people's dreams.

His clothes were torn and tattered

with worn out shoes and soles,

plus no I.D. to name him just

some scars, wrinkles and moles.

Perhaps a vet but no one's sure

there was no solid proof,

as the coroner performed his job

so calmly and aloof.

His age bout 53 they'd guessed

when clobbered on the street,

that left his body quite a mess,

from a life so bittersweet.

He'd dashed to save a toddler

who'd suddenly slipped away

from her mom's hand she'd wandered

to the face of death that day.

Something mystique sparked the hero

buried deep inside this man

as he scrambled from his cardboard box,

with a most heroic plan.

To help this child one good thing

that would perhaps save face

for a man who was down on his luck

his life, complete disgrace.

in split seconds he reached the child

his fingers stretching out

her momma's face reflecting fear

his last sound was her shout.

one precious child pushed to the curb

as a garbage truck roared by

then one bundle of crumpled flesh

was launched into the sky.

A sickening crunch of flesh and bone

and concrete filled the air

as suddenly this vagrant's life,

was taken from him there.

The angels gathered up his soul

and dusted off the grime

then whispered comfort in his ear

saying softly.."Come, it's time."

Minutes later he was carried to

a place beyond belief,

with no suffering, thirst or hunger

only answers to his grief.

With one large mansion given

to this caring, humble man

who had left behind his poverty,

and took up God's health plan


While down below his flesh was sliced

examined and then sent

off to be cremated

at a place all homeless went.

Into potter's field he'd go

in a numbered plot they'd lay

all that he had left behind

when he saved a life that day.

That little toddler never knew

the story of this man

scaring her with death's close call

was not his mother's plan.

But every year upon that day

when her child almost died

she placed a daisy on his grave

and whispered with a sigh..

"I will not ever know your name
but you were quite a guy..
yet someday I will thank you
when it comes my time to die."

Such selfless acts so often

go unnoticed by us all

and so I penned this little tale

to mark one heroes fall.


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