The Sleeping Man
I stand above the sleeping man,
Looking down on him at rest.
Or is he sleeping?
Is he - "at rest"?
Now I am not sure.
Perhaps he is unconscious.
Perhaps he is ... dead.
I notice he is fully clothed - with his shoes still on.
Certainly, not the attire of a man who has gone to bed ... willingly.
Is that blood upon his shirt?
I try to get my bearings.
Where exactly am I?
How did I come to be here looking down on this man?
And, who might he be?
I recognize the ring upon his hand.
That is my father's ring ...
Or, at least, it used to be ...
Before he gave it ... to me!
The flashing lights gain my attention.
I now know where I am - on the side of the road near my house.
That is my car wrapped around the tree.
The missing windshield is a reminder that I forgot to fasten my seatbelt ... again.
And that man I stand above is ...
Or, rather, used to be ...
Me
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
