Marked D

Guts dragged across the freeway

Like a tired artist's cry for help

The mutilated magpie

Paints the humid eve

Quinn died here, too

I scrubbed names off of name tags today

It felt so mortally mundane

Like ripping labels off of recycled soldier uniforms

My fingers are stained from the ink

And smooth from the bleach 

"Marked D for deceased

Or dead

Or departed"

I don't answer

There is a bird at the window  

Reviews

[Soren]

Too many people missed this one. It is dark and yet drips poetry like a book of Milton soaked in a flood. I feel I have been there.

[nadia dmitri]

Thank you for that thoughtful description, Soren :) I always appreciate your feedback