It Isn't Fair
By Richard Messer

Two good ol' boys at the door,
the Coroner and a Deputy,
tell me an accident has happened and
we talk about the weather, the incredible
meteor shower, as we drive
to the hospital where they escort me
downstairs to a white tiled room
then step aside to watch.

You lie arranged on a gurney, a sheet
to your shoulders. Someone has undressed you,
your hair, wet, hangs free, and the light
stabs into your unclosed eyes. I shout
and reaching for your touch your cheek,
empty flesh: you have fled
or been stolen. When I cry your name,
pulling back the sheet, someone yells
and jerks me away-- it is murder they say,
and they are sorry but have to know
how can I account for my whereabouts?

Previously published by Bottom Dog Press in Messer's book Murder In The Family

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