Tony Bush Poet Blank verse

Death of a Princess

Vultures swooped at fast
evading carrion;
Vespa hornet squadron buzzed;
Paparazzi psychology, ruthless
across screaming Macadam black
as the blackest slabs of night.

Sheet lightning born of
flashbulbs popping;
illuminated faces strobed
under toughened glass;
wide eyes, teeth gritted,
urging crazy dizzy velocity;
all the riches and love in the world
could not stop this madness.

The end came sharply defined
in pointless scream of brakes;
smoking tyres losing traction;
arms instinctively covering eyes,
futile protection from Death’s
unavoidable dominion.
The solid tunnel wall
shouted STOP!

A marriage of metal and unyielding
brickwork;
shatterproof glass shards,
wild pearls strewn on
black velvet cape;
rupturing vital organs,
impact snaps of compounded fractures;
far siren’s discord imaging
echoed anguish, amplifying fear.
The unmistakable odour of
Chanel and gasoline.

What images, what captured souls
lay on film in guilty cameras
shamefacedly dangling from leather straps
like one-eyed hanging men?
What story of the last of
life do they tell?
Must there be one of tearstained face,
speed-blurred under toughened glass;
host begging eyes ‘neath curling lashes,
agate yet ambivalent,
inviting or repelling;
lips parted, mouthing one last 
word:

please!

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