The Cemetery on Christmas Eve
Dennis Bullock had his face laid out as a days-long scavengers’ feast
beneath the unseasonably hot December sun and the Yuletide moon.
54 years old, a mechanic, an alcoholic, a drug addict gone too soon.
A passerby, anonymous, came across the Northside man in Riverview,
the little sister cemetery to Hollywood off of South Randolph Street,
where dark trees and monstrous vines and sinister mushrooms lie.
His body had begun to decompose amongst the older dead in the heat,
the stink of foul play on his flesh and bones, as he was nearly naked,
leaving the world behind wearing only his boxer shorts.