Thoughts on a Stormy Night
(excerpt)
MY NEIGHBOUR DIED
My neighbour died last Sunday.
I knew Ray since I was a kid and called him sir.
Across the street Jim is putting in new grass seed
And the dogs down the street are singing harmony.
Ray was a decent sort.
Went to church every Sunday, raised his children with love.
The mortar of civilization.
Overhead a flight to London flies too low.
I can hardly hear myself think.
And my feet are too tired from weeping.
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