be mine 4 ever

the rhythmic thumping of the washing machine
i wondered what the young boy, hidden behind
the arm of the sofa, had seen of the masked man,
or if the chill point of light had blinded him into
magnanimous ignorance.

the rhythmic thumping of the washing machine
i wondered if that man had considered, even
comprehended that he might die tonight, in a
way that would make joseph mengele himself
applaud in admiration.

the rhythmic thumping of the washing machine
i wondered if that woman knew what she was
getting into when she agreed to take point, or
if she had to look around first before she found
a jawbone across the porch.

i wondered too:
the rhythmic thumping of the washing machine
and the smell when she finally opened it up