the upturned car on 95
bodies strewn
like dolls tossd
the rain
in black sheets, split
by headlights
moving in slow
procession.
you can almost hear
drum beats.
we don't weep. we
want to get home
to our beds,
our meals, our children.
we just want
to be off this road.
the blue lights are there.
the red lights.
the trucks.
the stretchers.
people are rising in the air.
No comments:
Post a Comment