Blood and Cold Water
They were swilling blood from the road
into the gutter,
policemen with buckets
of cold water.
And all I could think of was you
and how you had left me.
It was not your blood but someone else's
that the curious had crowded to see.
You were walking, talking, laughing
elsewhere in this city
and I know I might see you someday,
which would be a pity.
I found myself wishing and hoping
this blood had been part of you.
Your going would shock me, of course,
but such shock would soon pass through.
They were swilling blood from the road
into the gutter
and had it been your blood and you dead
such thoughts would not matter.
(25 April 2023)
(written 1970s, then lost, then recalled and reconstructed)
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