Death on Sunny Days
a poem.

I saw a man die yesterday
and there was nothing to do but stand and watch.
Curiosity got the best of me while
he lay lifeless on the ground.
Another man with a beard pressed the heel of his hands
against the cold man’s chest, pounding a fervent prayer
to come back for a second helping, an encore
or simply to make a guest appearance on borrowed time.
The day was sunny and the sky was as blue as the ocean
while his stomach made waves with each compression.
I thought, what a beautiful morning, and then I wondered if
he was leaning against the ambulance with a crooked smile,
watching the people kneel around his body.
Would he have chosen a different day, a day of gloom and rain
with winds wailing a declaration of misery and loss,
so that his family and friends would not have to feel conflicted
over when to commiserate and when to celebrate,
like orgasm during rape or death on sunny days?

And when they put him in the truck, after a series of failed shocks
he was whisked away and I continued walking home.