Leftover Dead Guy Parts by Kevin Ridgeway

that’s what my dad called them,
his cadaver’s ankle bandaged
and dripping from a bargain
basement-priced surgery at an
indigent hospital in a room full of
broken bones, screams and turd
caked bedpans needing to be
dumped.  a man in the next bed
leaned against his IV as he battled
a monstrous hallucination when
my dad kicked his nurse square
in the ass, and just before she
could say a word, he blamed it
on his new dead guy ankle, which
had a mind of its own and liked
to dance.  he waltzed around
like a goon with his used part,
and the schizophrenic neighbor
was no where to be found, the
needle on his IV disconnected
and hanging above a small pool
of neglected blood.

Kevin Ridgeway was born in Bellflower, CA and raised in nearby Whittier, where he currently lives and writes.  Nominated for the Pushcart Prize and Best of the Net, his work has appeared or is forthcoming in Chiron Review, Nerve Cowboy, Re)verb, San Pedro River Review, Right Hand Pointing, Bank-Heavy, Misfit Magazine and The Mas Tequila Review, among others.  His latest chapbooks of poetry are On the Burning Shore (Arroyo Seco Press) and Riding Off Into That Strange Technicolor Sunset:  Dallas-FT. Worth Poems (The Weekly Weird Monthly).

Kevin Ridgeway was born in Bellflower, CA and raised in nearby Whittier, where he currently lives and writes. Nominated for the Pushcart Prize and Best of the Net, his work has appeared or is forthcoming in Chiron Review, Nerve Cowboy, Re)verb, San Pedro River Review, Right Hand Pointing, Bank-Heavy, Misfit Magazine and The Mas Tequila Review, among others. His latest chapbooks of poetry are On the Burning Shore (Arroyo Seco Press) and Riding Off Into That Strange Technicolor Sunset: Dallas-FT. Worth Poems (The Weekly Weird Monthly).

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