At 9:17 Pm Precisely
Listen to poem:
At nine-seventeen PM, precisely
his watch stopped, broken by the impact
not when he fell, but when he landed
and lay there, crumpled on the rocks, dead.
Seconds before he had been laughing
fooling about, posing
for a selfie on the cliff top
using his own camera
held at arm's-length in front of him.
He swung around stepping carefully
between the rocks, trying to get
the mountain behind him in the shot.
Just before nine-seventeen PM
he tripped and fell backwards
over the cliff to his death,
a selfie.
Copyright © John Anderson | Year Posted 2018
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