in pools of red rippling out like rings
from bridge-dropt stones; Pieces of people
holding other arms
lips chattering in laughter legs crossed in love;
Pieces of people
torn and stripped in the rubble
of a stranger’s bomb;
Pieces of people
like stuffing from a straw-filled mattress
worn from too much loving;
who would have thought
our neighbourhood
would have so many
pieces of people?
Pieces of people
Robert Nimmo