underwing
the lazy rust of
blood-stained sheets
left too many weeks
dry-aged

everywhere you look
there’s inspiration enough to entitle
a season of Mentalist episodes
I entertain a Hollywood plot
a tragic crash
untimely end
our blood and guts
spilt Chinese lacquer
seeping into copper

rather too fanciful
I admit

were we truly to fall
grey metal mote would be all
barely denting
dusky damask