Black Heart
Over the bridge at midnight
in stygian dark, the nitro-glycerine juggernaut
rammed a tyre in a pothole,
detonating rib-splitting eruptions,
jolting to wakefulness, blackness, airless
silence.
Wildly clutching, rigid hands like knotted talons
at the bare, still chest;
river dancers in razor stilettos
reeling and jigging up and down
both arms; sweat droplets flying to coverlet
unseen.
I looked for you, glimpsed a black outline,
indistinct charcoal engraving curled
in a blanket of night;
if I could have spoken words I would
have told you goodbye,
honest.
I would have told you sorry,
don 't worry, things will be O.K.,
that, despite it all, I love you;
most of all, my dying breath would beseech
you kiss the children for me at least
once a day.
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