Dave Hughes: The Reply

Fighting to get this poor fuck on a cot.

He is so shot up,

so slick with his own blood,

I can barely hold his arms.

I swat his flailing hands away,

and pin his arm with my knee.

He is gasping, clutching, spitting,sputtering,

drowning on dry land.

Suddenly his rolling eyes find mine,

pupils wide,

he desperately tries to tell me something.

Tell me what?

Perhaps its his life’s summation,

distilled into one word.

So I listen.                                                                                                             It rushes up,

the reply to a pebble dropped into a well,

“Why?

I look at him blankly,

“Why … “ I answer,

“Cos you’re an asshole, Thats why.”

It’s the last thing he hears.

and sometimes,

that bothers me.