Dieings

In the gutter gushes begrimed water,

Fusing with blood.

A trough, turning flowing red

Churning with the current in narrow streaks.

The alley the channel coursed from was dark.

A moaning came groaning from the black.

Something moved slowly along the curbing,

Motion disturbing trashcans caused their spilling.

A patrolman was checking store doors.

He heard a banging clanging from the alley.

The toe of his boot tickled the blood,

It sniggered at his cuffs following the trench.

It was not quiet deep in the darkness.

The officer blundered in, bludgeon ready.

He stumbled, fumbled over a failing body.

Striking a match, the patrolman saw a sallow young son,

His jacket torn and darkly wet.

There was a blade impaled in his stomach.

The life in the trough springs from the boy.

Shaking his head, the protector bent over the lad.

From the soundless night came a sound.

Somebody had struck down the enforcement,

A gang of shadows stomped the cop.

Blood coalesces in the sewer, the policeman dies.

The city is indignant for almost a week.

Illustration: source unknown