Death of an ex-lover
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Charles Alan Cagle
1973 - 2005
His body lay athwart the entry to my dining room. I reached down and shook his shoulder. No response. Is he dead I wondered.
Scared I went to the corner store and bought a pack of cigarettes and a Coke.Back home I shook him some more, slapped his butt, called his name. Not a flinch or peep.
I dialed 911. The paramedics’ electric pads couldn’t revive him.
Charles had died of his third drug overdose. This time of dilaudil.
Detectives arrived, crime scene personnel in their wake. When the latter had finished the meat wagon arrived.
I retreated to the rear of my house and cried. Thankfully Alex was there to comfort me.
Perhaps it is some vestigial masculine conditioning: I don’t like to cry in public. My tears were brief.
As the body bag glided past I was screaming to myself silently “My little boy. My little boy.”