Grandma Read the Sports Section

by

Adam Gosha

I was sitting alone up north drinking coffee
when an old woman came in and sat across
the room from me.
She ordered a water and nothing else. She took
a deep breath while I noticed she opened yesterday's
newspaper. After about ten minutes she lit her
last cigarette and died right there in the
sports section. No blood, not guts, just
water. Around midnight I could hear the
decaying body. Volcanoes arose from her spine.
Her body shrank and melted flowing to the
edges of the table. Oceans formed, and lands
formed as I sat for eons watching this
spectacle. Strange life-forms multiplied and wrote
books, fought wars, and built cities. They
destroyed the cities and built them once again over
dust and rubble. And soon enough it became
mundane, boring, and useless. I went to the
bathroom, came back, drank coffee, smoked
a cigarette, and for some reason was drawn to look again.
Nothing was there, no life. I've missed
the end of the world. I was the
last man on earth. I walked outside
into the fresh air of death, lit another
cigarette and I walked
off into nowhere. Looking for life,
and maybe love, with old necessities
lying everywhere, anything I desired in my
grasp. I was a millionaire with nothing to buy.
I bought a newspaper. I walked
to the nearest café and sat
across from what I remember was a
young woman. She looked at me with
pen in hand, in which I'm sure out
there somewhere is an empty poem called
"Grandpa Read the Classifieds," while I lit my last
cigarette and all went black. As it seems
no one will ever read that poem, and another
may die starving in content.

NEXT?
Why don't you look at Chicken Fingers
by: Andrew Foxwell
from: Menomonie, WI, US

To visit all of Adam Gosha's poems, click HERE

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