Wishful Soul
I hope that when my grandparents die,
they go quickly and violently, in a car crash.
No pain, no guilt,
with just enough time to hold hands
and squeeze
right before they go.
Maybe they will even have time
to make love—
Crawl into the backseat,
choking on broken glass and bleeding from their chests
bodies crushing together for the
final
spasm
The End
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THE GOODS
You're currently reading the poem
Wishful Soul, which
was posted on Jan 9, 2012 by
NeilRichardGrayson.
This is a solo poem.
© 2012. All rights reserved.
This poem is filed under:
Free Verse
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