Torture Stakes

07 May
ghosts slink around those crosses
look at a couple on kinsman,
tucked in the roadside littered weeds
black craters of stolen lives
stems of sooty plastic flowers
smeared with smog teardrops
wind blown scarecrows
nasal thumbed by sunday speeders
that pass

like the painted cross
just below the dog-leg turn
off old six-o-eight south,
tells the muffled echo
of pain and the groans of loss,
the mushroom cap
from the bloody glass
and shattered skull chips
manuring the torture stake
inundated with the stinking residue
of roadkill dogs rabbit and skunk

and that road-mirror
the torture-stake in some parent's bowel
a party's over,

that should not have sped
the blacktop

3.9 10/10
© Brian Peter Hodgkinson
Leave a comment

Posted by on May 7, 2022 in Poetry


Leave a Reply

%d bloggers like this: