A man is walking down my block

            His face is red

            His lips are dry

            A field of grass sinks past his feet

            I saw him screaming

            Why he stopped, I don’t know

            He doesn’t move

            He’s dead on the soil

            And now the town is walking by

            His hands are bones

            The world keeps spinning

            His shoes are gone

            I’m watching from my window

            His body’s dust

            And boys are playing baseballs in that field

            The wind’s coming now

            I’m drinking out of a wine glass

            The man is gone

            And the newspapers ink bleeds through my white shirt

            My chest is stained

            What was his name?


Copyright © Morgan Myers, 2005. All Rights Reserved.