Before the Coroner Comes
(more notes from the back of the ambulance)
This boy is dead and I won't think
of my own sons. Instead, I'll blink
and ponder on the mundane things, like why
death comes at change of shift and look how far
fresh blood can roam.
I hate the sight of bone-white chalk
the scent of death, the hum of talk.
This boy is dead - and these are things I know.
I know just where and how some children die.
They die at home.
"How can this be?" his mother said.
"I left him sleeping, safe in bed."
I hold her back - her son is dead.
My boys are home. This is how love leaves us -
each alone.
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