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today                                                      the leaves cry

              three thousand

              green tears

              for the leached out sky

 

the sun burns

 

at a breathless fog                              that winds itself

 

until it becomes a shroud

 

around the trunk

       of a dead man

 

seeps and pools               spools

                                                        like blood

in the hollows

of his wounds

they found him

early and half buried

              hooded and tied

              dispatched with five freshly

              scabbed over

       gunshot wounds

one in the head

   one in each limb

                 at the joint

              Constable Hughes met her

face at the front door

              removed his hat

                     brushed away the sweat

       she wept

 

out in the garden

                     the young boy swung

                 at the end of a rope

 

his shouts                                              hung on branches

 

and in the house crying

 

heart-sore                         ripped bare                     sighs

 

words swept away

 

       by the wind

from Dissonances (Bluechrome Press, 2007), © Nigel McLoughlin 2007, used by permission of the author

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