"An accident.
An ambulance.
Is anyone alive?"
None that I can see.
Men come out the back in
a flash of red, efficient, and
hide the faces,
X out the eyes -
for shame.
The wreckage of a man, empty
pinned bleeding between
the steering wheel and
the gear shift. This is
how it ends: with a bang
after all. One who was
alive is now
dead. Clear the road.
So it is done and
so it begins but traffic still
slows in motion, stops and
moves like so much
blood through hardened
arteries. And lately
I'm thinking
that life (and death)
are nothing like
a movie on television
or a sitcom
where minor characters
move from week
to week, all new
and there is no past, no
shards or skidmarks to slow
for. Bit parts
die hard and, really, it is
more like a clip
show of
convenient memories designed
to count and cover the dead,
X their eyes and
clear the road.
Repeat.
Retrospective.
A special at
season's end.
"Is anyone alive?"
Anyone? Any
one? None
that I
can see.
An ambulance.
Is anyone alive?"
None that I can see.
Men come out the back in
a flash of red, efficient, and
hide the faces,
X out the eyes -
for shame.
The wreckage of a man, empty
pinned bleeding between
the steering wheel and
the gear shift. This is
how it ends: with a bang
after all. One who was
alive is now
dead. Clear the road.
So it is done and
so it begins but traffic still
slows in motion, stops and
moves like so much
blood through hardened
arteries. And lately
I'm thinking
that life (and death)
are nothing like
a movie on television
or a sitcom
where minor characters
move from week
to week, all new
and there is no past, no
shards or skidmarks to slow
for. Bit parts
die hard and, really, it is
more like a clip
show of
convenient memories designed
to count and cover the dead,
X their eyes and
clear the road.
Repeat.
Retrospective.
A special at
season's end.
"Is anyone alive?"
Anyone? Any
one? None
that I
can see.