A Poem for September

Another Victim

 I don’t know why

he’s acted strangely for days.

Secretive.  Nervous.

His haunted eyes evade mine

and he shrinks from my embrace.

In bed, he faces the other way

and gets up before the break of day.

His smile has crumpled into a frown,

he pretends to read but is brooding,

trying to hide the mood he’s in.

From me he’s closed down.

 

He brought be morning tea before the alarm.

A warmth broke through his cloud

as he whispered words aloud

that he loved me.

He said all would be fine and

how sorry he was.

He kissed my head before leaving,

couldn’t plan for the evening.

 

He’d have known he’d be dead

after renting a car

mowing scores of innocents down

and I don’t know why.

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