after hours and gone
the palmetto wet and dripping,hid the rattlesnake waiting on the floor.
waiting silently for a school kid to come looking for his or her ball.
waiting on fate to befall his next victim,his next center of attention.
he lit up like a star,when,out of a car got a little girl who wanted to pick a flower.
picking flowers suddenly became her death hour.
spit up on her blouse,pulse and blood pressure heading south,feels like cotton in the mouth.
on the way to the hospital,her daddy said goodbye,holding her,all the while he cried.he knew she died when he shook and she didnt respond.he knew she died when he tried to smile and hers didnt come on.and he knew she died because there was a rattle snake on the lawn.
he didnt know how he knew,he just saw a rattle snake in his head.
and now,thanks to a snake,his daughter is dead.
no wedding,no phone,no kids to tell to leave him alone.just gone.
so dear god,tell me just why,this mans daughter had to die,when all she did was pick flowers?cant you pick better death hours?
This poem was written by chris bowen on Jun 30, 2008.
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