David Nickle Read Poet Free verse

One For the Road

What would eat me were I road kill?
 Not a thing, not a thing; 
I'd be scooped by the neon men, 
stowed inside a ziplock bag, 
secreted in the sterile belly, 
of another steel wheeled killer. 

What would watch my empty vessel? 
Not a thing, not a thing; 
I'd be stuffed inside a metal draw, 
a tag upon my toe, 
no moon or sunlight seeing there, 
the name and number death assigned.

What flowers would grow where my 
blood spilt? Not a thing, not a thing;
I'd be dressed in suit's expensive noire,
hands folded on my chest, 
finally compliant, 
as they box me one more time.

6/4/17
All Rights Reserved By The Author
David Nickle Read

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Darren White April 6, 2017 at 1:54 AM It may be a sad poem, but it is also a lyric that resonates in me, with music. And that has a strange sort of comfort in it :)