Accident

Froth from the lips
and a moon-eye of terror's mouth;
it screams towards a lost day.

The blood and kicks
are inconsequential, yellow fluids
mix with the stink and grit.
Flies in sexfrenzy.

The children are awed, afraid,
eyes covered by a father's hand.
Lamps flicker, their smoke
reaches for a saint.

The master arrives with his gun.
The weeping groom flees, unable to watch.

The night is cold.
A hug of stars, a velvet meadow
to cushion the fall of his heart.
The shape of Pegasus winks.

Over there, the wall of death is being dismantled, rib by rib.
The motorcycles are rolled onto the truck.
Their blue breath hangs in the air
like a warning.

© Mark Sheeky. Permission is required for reproduction.