Your Brother Anthony Goes Down and I’m Not Really Sad About It by John Dorroh

Your brother’s blood is as thick as syrup,
and I heard from a very reliable source
that he may die sometime this week. So
we’d better cancel our plans to go to
the First Baptist Casserole Contest down
at your cousin’s Place. Tell her after the
funeral, we will all go to the Passion Play
and get Uncle Buck to lay hands on me
for this thyroid condition. It’s all in the family,
you know.

He lived on beets and beer for years, the
occasional piece of fried chicken, and absolutely
no vegetables, except French fries and cold
green bean casseroles with extra cheese and
Durkee fried onion rings. That’s it. No water,
no vitamins or minerals, just large servings of pride,
and fruit cobblers in July when the blackberries
began to liberate themselves from scratchy vines
and bushes.

No, I’m not upset about his passing, as all of God’s
creatures eventually wear themselves completely out,
whether it be a bit early or a bit late – no  one gets to choose,
except for those who commit the sin of suicide. Can you imagine
not getting to see your house of gold just because you could
not wait for the angel of Death to come and get you? Sort of
jumping the gun, I’d say.

Anthony chose his circumstances and called the grim reaper
a bit prematurely, but by God, he’s a grown man; had the proper
upbringing and came from good stock. Come to think of it,
we should go to the  Casserole Contest down at Palmetto Grove.
I think your shoepeg corn casserole is vetted for a blue ribbon.

About John Dorroh:

Whether John Dorroh taught any high school biology is still up for grabs. However, he showed up every morning at 6:45 with at least two lesson plans. His poetry has appeared in Suisun Valley Review, Dime Show Review, Rat's Ass Review, Sick Lit, Walk Write-up, Indigent press, and others. He also dabbles with short fiction and the occassional rant.