Jack Schitt

Jack Schitt.
He had the kind of name
you’d see on a bathroom wall
and laugh at,
a name built for bumper stickers
and dirty jokes,
but there it was,
nailed to eternity.

“He was an asshole,”
the plaque says,
but funny.

Like that makes it better,
like the world needs more assholes
with punchlines.

The truck below hums along,
hauling yesterday’s crap
like it always does.

Jack would’ve liked that.

Canaveral National Seashore, Titusville, Florida

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