We decided to have the abortion, became
killers together. The period that came
changed nothing. They were dead, that young couple
who had been for life.
As we talked of it in bed, the crash
was not a surprise. We went to the window,
looked at the crushed cars and the gleaming
curved shears of glass as if we had
done it. Cops pulled the bodies out
Bloody as births from the small, smoking
aperture of the door, laid them
on the hill, covered them with blankets that soaked
through. Blood
began to pour
down my legs into my slippers. I stood
where I was until they shot the bound
form into the black hole
of the ambulance and stood the other one
up, a bandage covering its head,
stained where the eyes had been.
The next morning I had to kneel
an hour on that floor, to clean up my blood,
rubbing with wet cloths at those glittering
translucent spots, as one has to soak
a long time to deglaze the pan
when the feast is over.
Anonymous submission.
Until they shot the bound! ! Thanks for sharing this poem with us.
Why do your comments so frequently exhibit such a rude indifference to the content of the poem and depth of feeling that the words convey? Do you even read the poems, or just pick out the first word or phrase that meets your eye? Seriously, I find your random interjections to be a rude assault on the art of poetry as a whole and to the efforts of individuals in particular.
It still IS, dear Susan. Thank you that I may write this down here. Sincerely, Sylvia Frances Chan Jakarta born from The Netherlands.
Oh! ! ! What a poem! The analogy of the crash (and death of a young couple) with an abortion is, least to say, chilling! Brilliant!
Absolutely vomitous, emetic little anti-abortion screed. One can only imagine what sort of creature Christofascist Olds must be!
Utterly vomitous, emetic little anti-abortion screed. One can only imagine what sort of Christofascist SCUM Olds must be!
Awesome style and unique narration of the crash and injured therein. Well deserved modern poem of the day.
The next morning I had to kneel an hour on that floor, to clean up my blood, rubbing with wet cloths at those glittering....everything is endless ending.... the end roundly comes but with a beginning of new something..... certainly great poem penned....10+
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
The next morning...... thanks for posting.....