Wednesday, November 09, 2016

snapshot ...



snapshot ...
first
a snapshot
[a small girl
in a yellow slicker
standing in the rain
and splashing her feet
in puddles
out in the driveway
beside the old Plymouth
and if you look close enough
you'll see the reflection
of her killer
in the chrome
of the rear view mirror]
you were there
yes, you were
it was you taking the snapshot
even though you barely knew her
the little girl
whom you later said was odd
even when she went missing
even when we searched the corn field
right down to the creek
where they found her body
about a mile downstream
[Ray Bukowski found her twisted
beneath a willow
and he broke down
and hollered like a banshee
until the rest showed up
i was there
but you refused to go
you said that you had seen
enough death]
and no one knew
no one knew
what to say or do
until finally
the police arrived
and someone
picked her up
and carried her
to a patrol car
that sped away
just before sunset
[you smoked a cigarette
out by the fence
and you told me to stay away
not just then
but for a week or two
you said
you needed some time alone
and even as the days passed into
time wasted
that was time anyways
i waited until
you turned time apart into
forever]
i guess i should have guessed
but i never thought
never even considered
how sometimes
danger hangs in the air
like raindrops
splashing in the puddles
where her small boots
danced
on that tragic day
the day you took a snapshot
of a little girl
in a yellow slicker
out in the driveway
beside the old Plymouth
and in the chrome of a rear view mirror
you can see her killer
holding a 35mm camera


 







 








 
 


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