A light so bright black would shine,
lodged in the corner.
A science awaits the oncoming, calculate time
Ridged! Out stretched trolley hold
Smelling clean the untouched uniform is tied.
A pen mark, a line.
Like a conductor keeping time.
Time ticks slow…
Eyes scatter the space leaving the subject alone.
Burning hair greats the pneumatic scream.
Oblivious a smile?
Glue and staples and a stitch in time.
Lungs exfoliating air
As if it was me lay there.
By Alan Whitfield 2012