19 October 2016

Poem-A-Day #233 : The Grattan Murders

The Grattan Murders

A knife
His hands
A wire
A shiv

The clock counts the ways
that a man could kill his family

It strikes twice per hour

How drunk his ass must have been
how sad his life before or after - he
must have been on PCP

He lost Jesus

A knife
          from the kitchen block
the one for turkey at Thanksgiving - the
one his father gave him
     the day the baby was born

His hands
                    around his own
mother's neck - he'd dreamt it
since he was 5

A wire
     the folds of the skin - leather
the wire is a belt the wire is a moment
a switch from the tree out front
               a sound like be a man

A shiv for baby

He had been staring out at the lake for hours
had managed to not drink or anything
had come home silently
had decided without deciding