Friday, April 04, 2008

a death

a yamaha 1200
underneath a car’s
front fender
outside my door
coming home
tonight. broken
glass, spilled
petrol running
down the road.
one boot abandoned
when they cut
the rider out.
a policeman
taking photographs;
and on the grass
across the street
six kids watching,
clutching skate-
boards underarm.
they’ve all
the appropriate
but still they
look, they gape,
and no one
speaks a word.


Ralph Murre said...

An excellent piece of writing, Bruce; just the facts, well obseved. A reminder of what good poetry is about.

Bruce Hodder said...

Thank you, Ralph. It felt good the moment it came out, which mine almost never do, to me. But as I said on the MySpace site, some poems just give themselves to you. I hope to have time to read the Psalms this week.