my wife tells me about the plane crash

the two hundred or so
charred bodies smouldering
in the fuselage on a
sao paulo runway
and i look up - i lift
my head - and i meet
her eyes and say
'that's terrible'
and for once mean it,
then i turn to my notebook
and write this hurriedly,
before it's gone.

from the November 2007 issue of High Altitude Poetry

read more of my poems from HAP here.

p.s. no, not married yet...next summer...

No comments: