I was an object
moving at over 100mph
in the fast falling rain
listening only
to the speed
set free from me
to be this object
moving through the distance
of this time
asking the hitchhiker
his name
“Death.”
he said shyly
as if he was embarrassed
at what he had to do.
My life
no longer mine
reduced now
to an object
in a Cornell box
an assemblage
of the all the me’s I once was
with all the missing me’s
I would never be
like the picture
my little girl drew
(Bluetacked now
to the fridge door)
a whirl pool
of dark circles
tearing through
the centre
of the page
with a lone figure
lost in the page’s
whiteness
unable to close
the distance
between the stick person
almost falling off
the edge - of the page
and the broken twisted
man
rain falling
on his dying eyes.
Dónall Dempsey
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/off-the-page/
