Secondhand Death

A stranger who had ceased to be strange
but still lacked a name
I know it now
know I want to forget
and will

Police tape
and a series
of increasingly unlikely stories
debunked by the truth
after a day

A first hand account
still far enough removed
I can emboss the images
without the business of emotion
save for a hug I couldn’t force

Three days later
and the blood
improbably blessing the door
only now being carted away
by a three person hazmat

A tiny lady
emerges from blue plastic
black shirt and jeans
company name in red
I never wished to see

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