Wednesday, July 3, 2013


No Body Here

Morning calls,
my groggy body replies;
first the cat's demands
meted out from a tin can,
then yogic breathing,
stretches loosen limbs,
eyes open wider;
blood flows, creaking,
groaning joints move free.

I open my front door,
cross the threshold, step
onto an accident scene,
the body's outline chalked
upon the concrete walkway
mere inches from the doormat
bidding all "WELCOME!"

Chalked images of shoes rest
next to the figure, lined up
as if he were merely sleeping,
a transient who stopped by
having heard about a party,
or so I speculate when I notice
the party popper in – no "on" –
his chalked hand. You know
the ones – they send confetti
and more into the air at the pull
of a simple string. Poor guy
appears nude, his butt outlined
in soft, curved, yellow powder.

A heart placed near the house
completes the picture, perhaps,
or as a message that all is in fun,
a non-malicious game by teens
at a summer party, their thrill
my shock as I take gentle steps
past this crime scene outline
and retrieve my morning paper.

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