willing death

i sit by the roadside and watch the milling horde

i sit on a stone lower than the raised road

and everything is suddenly surreally true

against a clear winter sky bright blue

i’ve sat by the roadside at many a busy intersection

staring at a single pebble with the utmost concentration

willing it to ricochet from under a speeding car’s tyre

and instantly leave me ready for the pyre

the only slight cause for unease in the arrangements

is the thought of dying amongst complete strangers

the gaudy scene, i wonder why it bothers me

the way they’d stand apart and stare down at my body