Delivery notes piling up on your doorstep, Christmas lights still in your window.
Will they ever even notice how your worn-out sofa is missing one beige pillow?
The time passes and much to my chagrin nobody seems to care about your absence.
I drown my mind in self-loathing, waste my money on pricy gins and absinths.
But day after day you fail to make the headlines shake with vulgar excitement –
Was your life truly this lonely, were you left to rot in this world’s confinement?
No, I’m not sorry, at least for you, it’s cruel that I had to stay behind to watch,
To witness how your lifeless body wasn’t recovered from the pumpkin patch.
A week has gone by, only now I see the neighbours snooping in your garden,
Knocking without any luck, growing paranoid, offering the Satan a bargain.
Some detectives show up, some prints are taken, some folks are interviewed.
The bloody hammer cemented in my basement wall won’t let them prosecute.
So I observe from a distance, yet I’m never close enough to connect the dots –
Can you really blame them? You were shy, backdropping those who called the shots.
At least it’s what they repeat – but I knew better, I got to see the very worst.
You called my phone and you banged on my doors for weeks, you had the thirst
But you didn’t have the motive which made you the perfect stranger to me.
You peeped through my windows at night, sang about my mezzanine.
I didn’t know your name, couldn’t tell what you looked like, goddamn bastard.
You thought you’re in charge but I used your garage like a splashboard –
Possibly in that lurid moment your vicious brain realized what it’s done,
And when the hammer landed, your hellfire started blazing like the sun.
But it’s all good if I deserve the eternally unforgiving flames too,
I’m not looking for excuses, pardons or second chances.
As long as you’re the first down there, balancing on razors in the sinners’ zoo,
My blissful heart whirls in mysterious dances.
The Daily Writing of Jackie Wright 