crossing the road and closing my eyes
just to avoid your rolling black-gummed
stare. With white-plastic fists and deliberate
breaths, I move to a point where I no longer
face your bent and twisted gape.
Strangely then, when I saw them lift
your flaccid corpse out of the road,
soft as a soaked loaf of bread,
I didn't feel the joy everyone
thought I would. As much as I fear
your unpredictability I'd be
nothing without your presence; your
empty passing reminds me of my own.
