My uncle died alone in a hospital room.

The doctors called him a “non-compliant frequent flyer”.

For years I checked if he was alive through arrests.org.

When he made it 6 months between bookings I’d worry.

He lived in a condemnable house with no running water.

As a kid he let me ride on the back of his four-wheeler.

He smelled like engine oil and tobacco then.

Above his bed hung a deers head with wonky eyes.

He drank Dr Pepper and scattered bottles all over the floor.

He once caught his own car on fire because he wanted a new one.

He brought my grandma 4 gallons of tomatoes when she was dying

so she could tell the nurses she would can them with her grandma.

He nodded out by her bedside every night until she passed.

He left everything to my cousins and I.

I don’t know why, except there was nobody else to leave things to.

I don’t know if he ever paid taxes but I’ll find out before probate.

His water bill was up to $900 before they shut it off.

I couldn’t guess what outfit he wants to wear in his casket.

I don’t know if he wants mahogany or cherry wood.

I don’t know what songs he’d like played.

I can’t help but feel the crushing weight of knowing someone

no one cared to know well.

Still, someone has to write an obituary.