Death’s Driver


I don’t have a date for this one, although I can tell you it was written when I was in college the first time around, so between 2005 and 2010. It was written on the back of an old assignment and is unfinished. I don’t know where the second part of the poem is, although the arrow on the page tells me there was once a second part. Oh my record-keeping skills…-Faith


I was death’s driver
picking Emily up.
Annoyed that we had to stop,
forward, back, movement
constant, constant, constant.
Watching women stare from windows
as I pull their mothers away.
When death is out of town,
another 2 thousand needing guidance
in the jungles of Sierra Leone.
The jungles of Baghdad and Sri Lanka
and I am busy,
through rows of white that sacrificed
nothing but a continued existence
in a world that didn’t remember their names.
Those iron-jawed souls that I paused to watch
through sweating windows,
no different from those whom I escorted in the past.
their mothers, their mother’s mothers,
I left McCarthy in the desert,
with the gay workers he ousted,
smiling as I drove away.
The state sent police to assist but it was too late.
Watching McCarthy give head to the worker
he accused of being a spy…





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