We drive back slowly <br />along roads widening <br />with emptiness. <br /> <br />House appears <br />tall windows gaping <br />black eyes. <br /> <br />Gravel sprays <br />machine gun patter <br />as we arc and stop <br /> <br />Door opens <br />gasping <br />for breath <br /> <br />Another solemn black <br />stick person <br />pity-pored and forgiving <br /> <br />I could slap her face <br />kick her shins <br />punch squarely her solar plexus <br /> <br />flying with fury <br />soaring like a street fighter <br />in Hong Kong. <br /> <br />She would smile weakly <br />that sickening look locked in her eyes <br />and say inanely "I'm so sorry for your loss, Dear." <br /> <br /> <br /> <br />First published in Blue Giraffe, October 2006<br /><br />M.L. Emmett<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/flying-with-fury/
