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Yes, he is dead. The news broke out today.
What killed him spared no thought for all he did
and hoped to do. My unrelenting gaze
demanding he repent and feel dismay
must scurry now, a rat who’s lost her head.
Could I have kinder viewed his cock-eyed ways?

The greater tragedy may be he died
and I can feel no sadness, nor sweep clean
my joy. When will I learn all enmity
is waste, a pox of boiling gall inside
a vessel—mine!—disintegrating lean
and vibrant strength of mind? Insanity!

So now you ford the stream we all must cross.
You wish us well. Life carries on, no loss…


© Elaine Stirling, 2016