Flying with Fury

We drive back slowly
along roads widening
with emptiness.

House appears
tall windows gaping
black eyes.

Gravel sprays
machine gun patter
as we arc and stop

Door opens
gasping
for breath

Another solemn black
stick person
pity-pored and forgiving

I could slap her face
kick her shins
punch squarely her solar plexus

flying with fury
soaring like a street fighter
in Hong Kong.

She would smile weakly
that sickening look locked in her eyes
and say inanely “I’m so sorry for your loss, Dear.”

First published in Blue Giraffe, October 2006
© M.L.Emmett

 

Advertisements

Leave a comment

Filed under Death, Grief, Poem

Leave a Reply

Please log in using one of these methods to post your comment:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s