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Body Farm

By Sandra Ramirez From Issue No. 6

They scatter the corpses

over private land, handed

over to Science instead of God.

In the throes of departure,

it’s easy to imagine your life

some bigger purpose, your unusable

flesh roasting beneath a steel cage

in the hot Texan sun, an honor

and eager to rot. But tell that to

the man with the shakes,

posing for a picture with the sky

underneath the 405 underpass,

his mouth not quiet lining up

with the flag in his hands, lost

words shoved long ago

into a glove compartment

in his mind, the car left

by the side of the road

on his way out of town.

About Sandra Ramirez More From Issue No. 6