Dying Young

Dying Young short poem

Photo by jar [o]

He forded the river like you see folks do
in movies: the current up to his ribs
his arms raised up but his hands hanging.

each stride he took swivelled his body entire
his limp hands tore rents in the cold air
red edged in unseasonal peach.

no wolves chased him and none awaited.
to his nipples then his neck: frigid water
strangling him slowly, stealing his heat.

the torn air failed to bleed or scream.
a hawk slipped west on a precipitous wind
fell into the next valley and tipped a kid

off a ledge – perched above white pelt, red blood
just as the man had entered rapids and was swinging
his hands to kill the entire universe.

of course he fell – plunged into a hole,
tripped on a reptilian snag – cried out under water
someone’s name until he drowned .

that ridiculous hat he wore with the spray
of baby’s breath in the brim floated away
along with the paper money he’d borrowed.

the hawk tore at the goat invigorated by its heat
left bloody emblems in the frost that caused
several in the search party to shy away home.

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a poet from Seattle Washington USA. His poetry has appeared in print in publications such as Bellowing Ark, Point Nopoint, and most recently in Contraposition magazine. When not writing poetry he is a Human Resources professional, a repentant glutton, and a novelist specializing in the weird-fiction genre.
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