Click! The shutter flicks, the motor whirrs
And she records the image onto film.
Blank canvas, my moon-face startled, blanched white, and bloodless.
Flash! Red eyes reeling, I stagger backwards
Groping, feeling for the alley wall.
Scrabbling, fingers pick at the crumbling brick
And I pick, and I pick.
The fist, when it comes, is a steam train to the gut.
Crack! Knee connects with sternum, and stars scatter in the darkness like broken shards of mirror.
My head slams against the brickwork, and chips of stone score the bone.
The next punch knocks out my front teeth.
Spitting blood, I slump to the floor.
Lens flare. The lights blinds me as the shutter whirrs, my empty face on film.
A blanket covers my corpse, human effluent.
The photographer smiles.
Here is another older piece of poetry. I was trying to explore different viewpoints and capture the experience from the corpse’s perspective.