Cleansed by Fire

Sometimes I think of the last bits of you that may have remained

When they went to sift through the soot

To gather your ash and place it in this flimsy opaque bag

Did they find the metal bolts that were in your spine?

What about that battery thing

The one that surgeon put in your shoulder

That required you to charge like a cyborg

I wonder if the plastic melted

If the wires split

I like to think that among the ash in that bag

There is none of it

Funny how that little thing

That was promised to relieve you of pain

Couldn’t have done a better job

Than the crematory flames