The ten-car Interstate collision

has shucked me from the body.

My little heat ascends toward space,

and now, under the surgery theater lights,

they are lifting out a few of my used

parts to be reinstalled, to keep

some stranger going.

Goodbye, old heart, old greased purple

fist.  Keep slugging, just one more

inevitable rejection.

So long, kidneys, old beans.

Where you’re going you’ll find plenty

of work, plenty of dirty blood.

Look sharp now, eyes.  I kept you dry

and open all those years, don’t go

and cloud up on me now.

Honor our old bargain

with the sun.  Remember the good pay

that came to us each day in gold, and all

we had to do was wait, oh yes we waited

at high speed for that.