16 DEC 97
Piece Of Chalk

I look and see the blood,
Splattered all around.
Skin of a dying man,
Stuck to the icy ground.

‘Hit and Run’, somebody whispered.
‘The driver’s nowhere to be found’.
Pathetic sight, cringing in pain,
Dying man - not making a sound.

No one wanted to help him.
No one even tried.
I sat in the gutter, that cold, dark night
And watched him as he died.

Then over came the Blue man.
In a ‘who cares?’ sort of way
And outlined the body, with a piece of chalk,
On the ground as it lay.

What else could it do now?
The body - it was dead.
What was dying anyway?
Just something they all said?

The Blue man put the body,
In a bag and took it away.
I sat in the gutter that cold dark night,
Until the next cold day.

I was a ‘witness’ you see,
By the Blue man I was told.
Said I had to go down to the station,
To make a ‘statement’- I was cold.

Even though I did not understand it all,
I knew that it was bad
And all I could say when asked,
About the dying man was,
‘Dad!’