.................................
Just Next Door
.................................

She doesn't live here anymore
In that small white bungalow
Not fifty yards north, just next door.
The lights have been lit for two nights now,
The car is still alone in the drive.
No one's at home and we're left wondering
If there's something that could have been done.
Some word of friendship, some neighborly wave
Perhaps, some fudge brownies or an invite to dinner.
Who knows? She never really spoke to us
So we - we never really spoke to her.
And no one really ever saw her.
And no one in our house saw the cop cars come
And no one in our house saw them cut her down
And no one in our house saw the ambulance
Driving slowly, all too slowly, on its way back to town.
And now.
She doesn't live here anymore
In that small white bungalow
Not fifty yards north, just next door.

 
.................................
Jesus Gulls
.................................

The Jesus gulls walk lightly
On the water over thinning harbour ice.
They scrap and scree,
Over small and odd little bits of flesh.

The smelt shack fisherman is a drunken
Face of stubble and hand of knarling wood.
He wears fingerless gloves
Of shaking black and fading wool.

The smelt shack fisherman brings his gun
He waits for the day his vision clears,
There on the ice a crack and then
When bullet pierces pectoral muscle
Shattering fused spine and a gull implodes.
He'll cry! A great shot!
Twenty-two from forty yards.

The gulls will circle briefly and forgive
The smelt shack fisherman of all sin.
Perhaps they will eat their fallen friend
Perhaps they will leave it for the thaw.
They know this in their heart of hearts
The innocent have no mercy.

.................................
Scott Cudmore
.................................

 
Copyright © Scott Cudmore
April 1996

...a letter to Agnieszka in this room by Karen Tellefsen...
The way back home
Return to Agnieszka's Dowry Welcoming Room