MACABRE POETRY

Our Forsaken Neighbor

A lifetime of burning bridges

Bridge photo by the author

Poor Pia.

You kept the car running
in the garage;
got little attention,
even less when dead
from carbon monoxide
poisoning.

Poor lady.
You had a sister
in Duluth
who didn’t have a clue
that her kin
burned a lifetime of bridges,
cloistered,
an old woman decayed,
charred and petrified.

Time went by.
The seasons changed.
You were still behind the wheel,
inside the garage,
where only your brittle
bones remained.

I lived across the street
and found out too late.
I wondered if you’d
show your face
or collect the mail,
or open the blinds
to get some light.