Nine skeletons in his open trailer
Thoracic cages stand to order
Not unfamiliar, but reminding what was
A funeral beckoning a new day’s birth
Does he not bear our silent uproar
at his drive-by, blackened bone yard?
Heads turned, frozen in glares
Our next-to-nothingness shared
Nine sets of calcified structures
leaning against his trailer frame trellis
He must have painted the bony bowl heads
Were they models? Were they not?
He takes off, tarsals and metatarsals,
carpals and metacarpals a jiggle
My eyes, doll-like, clacked open,
enslaved in robotic procession
Nine lives reduced to bits
Souls long gone to somewhere else?
I could not fight a crawling shudder
Did they have families? Did they not?
He gives them a start, abruptly stopping,
cages rittle-rattling rigidly against wires
Skulls bob-bobbing in concurrence
with the mournful-manner, the bony bowl-headed,
rib-caged, dangling danglers were transportedas the pitter-patter of drizzle sprinkled on the spectacle
My comments about this poem:
On my way to work one morning, I saw a truck pulling 9 skeletons (painted black) being hauled in a trailer. I wrote this poem based on my journal entry of what I saw...