Sunny suicide

 

Mild wind in blue sky with sun glinting

off snowy Cretan mountain peaks

and bird song amongst orange groves

ripe with fruit waiting to be picked,

 

reverberated to a double shotgun blast

as someone blew his brains out

and spread them over the plaster

landscape that was his for too long.

 

As I wrote mellowed by birdsong,

righteously writing about what was wrong

with no cognisance of what went on

just below my balcony.

 

A moment came and passed.

And I learned about it from the news.

Written a long way away.

 

And now when I gaze down,

the birds still sing amongst the oranges.

And the dogs still bark.

 

 

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