“What a great place to use heroin!” he said,

And then fell over dead in the water.

No one thought to look for him at all,

Especially not at hippie holler,

Until the drought came along

And bones were found,

And everyone wondered, “Whose?”

And can you pick and choose which dead

You will speak ill of?

If it matters how many dollars a dead man has?

Or if any sense? But not even a penny

Was found on the sallow ground

Where this man’s pocket might have been

When he fell in and died.

And secretly everyone will say

That he killed himself,

But in today’s economy,

And the levitical philosophy we still bare and share,

We all do.

It’s just a matter of where and when,

And what manner of “vice”

We happen to fall into.

-jenn