Past junkyard fence in search of tangled ruins
I smelled the blood from twenty feet away
But stupid adolescence spurred us on
To a car with flattened golden roof and
Blood-specked sky-blue paramedic blankets
The gorgeous sunny California day
Annihilated by the stench of death


Looking back from my perch of seasoned grief
I see myself as if it were a film
A foolish angry kid without a clue
Whose histrionic heartache was concealed
By drink and sad sarcastic indifference
Gratefully alive, I close my eyes and
Imagine the man Mike would have become

by Richard W. Bray


One Response to “Wreckage”

  1. L. Margaret Says:

    How poignant.

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