on that summer day
just before lunch
he burst into flames
rolled across the asphalt
past the cars and twitching hose
I stood in mute anticipation
like fruit convinced of Galileo's truths
that night my flesh convulsed
and we drove hard till dawn broke us
in the morning the bell stuttered and jerked
muffled impotent a spasm of metal
void of resonance
he hid the scars at the abattoir
and dreamed I had been the one
About the Creator
Christopher Francis
I began writing as a child, continued as an adult and worked briefly as a professional. Literature and music were and are my passions. Then life got in the way. Now, at 66 they have returned and I am giving them my full attention. Ta da.
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181 Keeping Watch
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