Weekly Poem #197

Hit and Run


I saw him at the crossing, waiting for the lights to change,

Walking like he had a foot tangled in his shadow,

I caught his eye, for the briefest moment, and then he turned a corner.

I still see him, scraped across the tarmac, innards unpacked,

Caped by a crimson streak, fingers twitching their last.

He’d never seen it coming, boy racer, exhausts flaring, wheels screeching

Until the bodywork shattered, and pressed him into the ground.

Walking to work I would hear the screams, shouts and whimpers,

I thrash my head from side to side to shake them loose, but they stick,

I see pleading eyes reflecting in shop windows, see them follow me down the street.

Perhaps I caught the edge of his soul in that moment, and claimed it for my own,

I was the last person to see him alive, the last person to see his complete self,

Perhaps that sealed some spiritual pact between us, tethered him to me.

I’ve asked him before, but he never answers, he never says anything,

He just looks at me, with those pleading eyes, and lets me take care of the rest.

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