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Death Bed Blanket Tent. by Prewitt Scott-Jackson

                     Flashlights
              Ghost stories
        Stolen Stoli from Dad’s curio

Presidential candidate photo op holding Baby Beluga
           Raffi Tevas and Hawaiian print shirts save the world!

           Remember the time I built a beach hut
                       using nothing but wizard staffs for
                               construction material?

                  The narwhals dug it,
I’m thinking their blessing carries over, right?
                            Yes?

       Cool,
I still got that going for me

The stars? Remember the stars?

                All the stars in the sky spy on me at night.
                      I mean,
                why do you think there are so many stars?

It takes more than an army to patrol my night moves:

      1.   I tackle middle linebackers.

      2.   I picture tangible things as imaginary objects.

      3.   I make blanket statements when I am freezing

                  a.   or if I feel like being a jerk

                       But hey,
                     once dead,
                      just know

                I do not wish to be buried
             I do not wish to be cremated

            I wish to be fed to wild tigers.
I wish to give them energy, to provide protein,
        to swim breaststroke in their bloodstream

                  Get my corpse to the Sundarbans
     amongst the mangroves
                  where man-eaters romp

and when you get there, do NOT pray to the forest goddess Bonbibi,
                                 nary a single offering

                         Do NOT sharpen her trident!

                              Let them have me
                              Let them have me well

                              I wish to be tiger shit.

Pinky swear under this flashlight lit sheet
             right hand over both atriums,
                     over both ventricles

Swear on this Stoli-high that
               you
                You
                  YOU
               will
                     make it
                                 so

            I wish to be tiger shit.

I
wish
to
be
tiger
shit.

             Say it with me Sis’
             Say it with me


Prewitt Scott-Jackson writes Dad poetry & short fiction. The University of California Santa Barbara alum prefers short walks on the beach because—and I quote—"It's really hard to walk on sand."