What if I were on your list?
The next slippery rung on your ladder
another silver bead on your chain.
I could be a black bottle of wine
lying on the stone cellar floor
beneath your house
wearing a raincoat of dust
laid out like a legion of body bags
in a cavernous warehouse .
Or perhaps I am your next bullet
You in the heavy boots, jeans and
Those dark green eyes - watching from
behind the shutters
of an elevated window - fixing me in
But here…let me save you some time.
A well placed mine on the twelfth
or a man-trap in the sand-trap by the
would seem a far simpler modus
And there is the roll call of all
those who simply vanished
like the frost on a sunlit field.
Those who allowed the tide to take
or left in the normality of the
moment and never returned.
Leaving not even a chalk silhouette
in the hallway, face down
just a few feet from the door.