Blood and Cold Water

They were swilling blood from the road into the gutter, policemen with buckets of cold water. And all I could think of was you and how you had left me. It was not your blood but someone else's that the curious had crowded to see. You were walking, talking, laughing elsewhere in this city and I know I might see you someday, which would be a pity. I found myself wishing and hoping this blood had been part of you. Your going would shock me, of course, but such shock would soon pass through. They were swilling blood from the road into the gutter and had it been your blood and you dead such thoughts would not matter. (25 April 2023) (written 1970s, then lost, then recalled and reconstructed)