Drowning Victim
No telling what he thought.
That’s not how it works.
He has a past
but the face can’t tell of it.
It’s too calm.
Euphoric even.
A dead man doesn’t flinch
at rescue come too late
or the cops’ boots in mud
or the doctor’s cold fingers
all over his body,
seeking the time of death.
The crowd gathers.
Most are stunned.
A few are ashamed
of their own gawking.
But he…
he’s smiling.
That is
if the curve of a scythe
is a smile.
Layoffs
The job’s gone.
Just like that.
A dropped wrench on concrete
echoes throughout the factory floor.
Some are laid off.
Some survive.
Nobody’s talking.
Except, that is,
for that dropped wrench.
Some of these men and women
have known each other
longer than they’ve been
with their wives and husbands.
All these years
with just ten feet between them.
Now, they may never
speak to each other again.
Joe’s still got a job
but Ed doesn’t.
So much for brotherly love.
Sorrow can’t be shared
when it only goes in one direction.
A month’s pay severance.
How much is that
in real world money?
Some figured this was a job for life.
But life’s no longer hiring.
Asylum
The border’s not really open.
Barriers grow aplenty.
And so do broken promises.
And empty shelters.
And discarded papers.
There was even a body found here once.
An asylum seeker who froze to death
one bitter cold December.
He stumbled into this land after dark.
He heard there was mercy.
He heard wrong.
