Raymond

Ray is dead and he has been for years.

Gravy. He called the last few years 

gravy. He was Good Ray in those 

gravy years. Not the bad Ray that 

burned his life down over and over.

The Ray that needed a drink first thing

in the morning, the Ray who cut stories

past bone down to fatty marrow.

Ray knew the sourness one can inflict

in this life. That gravy was sweeter 

than any sourness ever was.