The Cockroach


Again, it’s the usual Saturday night;

another cold body, another lost fight.

His face is dented from hitting the curb;

blood pools from his brain – left undisturbed.

__________  .  __________

Lifting his head, he senses a trace;

of someone nearby, invading his space.

Under cover of shadows, he spies the ground;

there lies a body – making no sound.

*

As is his instinct, he knows what to do;

‘left for the taking’, that’s all he knew.

He readies to move free from mistakes;

his raw heart races – his body shakes.

*

Inching forward, he smells the death;

he sees no movement; he sees no breath.

 A gaping mouth wide as if to swear;

and blue glassy eyes – they only stare.

*

His plan now complete, he made it in slow;

then inspects the body from head to toe.

His work is done, he reaches in a pocket;

steals the man’s wallet – and runs like a rocket!

.

.

© 2012 – Kevin Collins

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4 comments on “The Cockroach

  1. Great Poem Kevin.. 🙂

  2. WordsFallFromMyEyes says:

    Wow. This was heaps vivid. Stepping in to the body especially then running like a rocket. Very clear picture. Excellent writing.

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