Last Meal of Choice
Let's workshop this poem about a death row prisoner perversely placing his hope in his impending execution functioning smoothly
Last Meal of Choice
No appeals left,
his solace—barring those
deus-ex-machina delusions
electrifying him
less and less of late—
rested in the likelihood
of the curtain dropping
without a hitch
(no breakdowns,
mismeasurements)—as if
he had allied with the State
against himself.
