Half Past Five


There’s a sewer drain in town
on Peck's Corner,
and at half past five,
the street lamp flickers on
at dusk, near where
gentlemen routinely take a leak
after leaving the Raven Pub.

They’ve been doing it for years
and no one seems to notice,
except for the smell of piss
which assaults the nostrils,
which in turn, informs the brain,
but only the vermin care
and there were plenty of them
near the sewer drain
in town on Peck's Corner.

I saw the body there
as I was walking by
at half past five on Monday.
The clock in the tower
told me it was so,
and when I called,
that’s what I told the authorities.

His head was in his lap,
the legs askew and bent
in impossible angles.
The arms hung down
with elbows facing out,
hands on top of the head,
just above the flaming red hair
of the head that was in his lap.
He was sitting in a pool
of his own blood.

His mouth was frozen
in a scream no one will hear,
but the eyes, the eyes ...
I'll never forget the eyes.
The vermin had eaten the eyes.

Will anyone ever know
the horror they saw,
just before half past five?