Death Works on Saturdays

[David Nelson Bradsher]

Death Works on Saturdays

I passed an ambulance today,
parked on a curb, its double doors flung wide.
The paramedics had a man inside
ready to take away.

I wonder who he is, or was?
I wonder if he had a heart attack,
or if he fell, or simply wrenched his back,
and what a person does

when howling sirens come for you,
and you’re no longer just a passerby?
Participants can cast a truer eye.
I wonder if the view

is something as surreal and strange
as the bad dream that wakes one up at night,
or one’s reaction to a bumpy flight,
or just the fear of change?

Was Death among us all this morning,
those who observed the old man’s exodus?
Was it the chill, or something more for us—
the cold breath of a warning?

[ramadevi]

Superb title, David.
I find no flaws in this---well composed with your usual finesse. Impressive enjambment.

I have a different view of death---as I work with the dying. it is not always cold or dark. More often, blissful and laced with light.

Warmly,
rd

[mfwilkie]

Good to read as well as to hear, mon ami.