self-epitaph

here lies someone
who didn't ask for any of this,
who did the worst they could
with what little they were given

here lies someone
who would rather stick their head in an oven
than say hello to their own 
mother

a rightside smile hanging upside down,
forehead wrinkles like tiny flesh rivers,
cascading through an empty field,
dotted with blackhead reeds

here lies a broken man
cobbled together from old station wagons,
assembled behind a texaco—
the one by the pond