You hear about Big Pete? The old man asked.
He’s not doing too good.
When I knew Big Pete, about ten years ago,
He was over 300 pounds. Probably closer to four.
Football was long behind him.
His ankles looked like telephone poles jammed into sneakers
That he never managed to tie.
He mostly sat-sometimes on two chairs side by side;
Getting up was a production and walking-when he finally got started-
Was a bangy herky-jerk that always seemed just shy
Of throwing all four limbs across the room in opposite directions.
This was when Big Pete was in his thirties-
It’ll go like that for a time.
Big Pete? Not doin’ too good.
That little phrase-those four words-covering whatever imaginable
Pain and suffering life finally passed his way.
After a time,
Not doin’ too good takes a decided turn.
Big Pete? He’s dyin’ I hear….
Hear about Big Pete?
No more updates.
But dead isn’t where it ends for Big Pete.
It ends with-
Did you hear about Big Pete?
That’s the end.