A dead boy on a beach

3 09 2015

The boy’s trousers have been taken down,
screwed low upon his pumps. A ragged t-shirt
has been tugged up over his nipples, over his head.
His stomach billows at the belly button,
It bloats as wet as a sail filled with waves,
like he has drunk seawater greedily.

Then the arch aches away
into gaunt hipbones, a gaping groin.
He is seven, eight perhaps; his underpants
have deflated footballs on them.
They have been sculpted back onto his dead frame,
mercifully. Though below this nappy,
his pinched knees seem brittle,
too insubstantial, almost, to have been born at all,

The wrinkled fist his hand had formed
is more fin than claw, he is barely there,
translucent, disappearing already,
laid out on the thinnest skin of tide,
quieter than the sand and wet with death,
waiting to be lulled back into the sea
and forgotten.

Advertisements

Actions

Information

2 responses

4 09 2015
readinpleasure

So sad and unfortunate.

4 09 2015
glynfedwards

Trying to imagine the unimaginable.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s




%d bloggers like this: