By Matt Praxmarer
Sally awoke amidst a pressing
awkward annoyance all about
the back. She decided she might
migrate in a circle: to run, as it were,
out of pain. Jogging desperately fast
she spied distantly Mrs. Oldwoman
watering some dead looking gardenias.
Sally stopped to bray a bit, a gut
Soaked Sound, some say a laugh.
And then she died.