Mickey J. Corrigan

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Sometimes no one comes
to your funeral

Sometimes no one comes
for your ashes

Sometimes your body is
boxed, set aside
like a package
with a wrong address

Sometimes your body is
left in the bone
and nobody notices

Sometimes only the grave
to you

And you know
new grass will sprout
above you
with no one
to care.


You wander the streets
dragging the soiled burden
of your future, your past
white hospital wristband
wrapped around bone

You trudge through the alleys
your suitcase on low wobble
your shoes on high scuff
your clothes hanging off
your wire hanger frame

You call out to the city
for healing, for heart
for someone to listen
to your litany of loss
smash ups and fuckups
missing wallets, missing teeth
missing wife, missing days
memories of wartime
fantasies of peace

You watch from the curb
from the bench, the park
all the people streaming by
in colorful running shoes
black stilettos like knives
they're walking clean dogs
pushing fancy carriages
chattering on cell phones
on their way home.

Death's Ambassadors

We are the many
we are the weak
after time in the unit
we came out without
all that we lost
there's no going back
to what we once were

The nurses tended
the doctors prescribed
objects without subjects
white mice in a dead zone
nobody composed us
the ending
can't some too soon

our future firebombed
millions of sufferers
set adrift
in the same sinking ship

We are ambassadors
waiting for a secret signal
from the unknown soldier
guarding an invisible gate

armies of survivors
curled up on couches
staring at blank walls
our new national anthem
the rattle of cold bones


Originally from Boston, Mickey J. Corrigan writes tropical noir with a dark humor. Her poetry has been widely published in literary journals and chapbooks. In 2020, Grandma Moses Press released Florida Man. Her most recent novel is All That Glitters, a scathing look at Palm Beach debauchery and greed (The Wild Rose Press, 2022).