st george’s road, 7.13pm

It had already occurred
when I passed by.

Though the glass seemed freshly strewn,
confetti for a deadly wedding,

the obscenities of shock
were already evaporating from the air.

The benign winking of the police lights – almost gay –
and a candy-stripe tongue of hazard tape

let pedestrians and motorists alike
pass with distracted irritation:

the mangled carcass of the family sedan
no matter to them now.

By Eleanor Jackson

Eleanor Jackson is a Filipino Australian poet, performer, arts producer, cyclist, writer, gal about town, feminist, freewheeler, and friend.

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