Member Poem

In my dreams, I see them all,
the ones who let you slip away.

The neighbour who laced the earth with death,
letting you lap up that toxic mess,
your little body wracked with pain,
stumbling, lost, into the street,
only feet from your own front door,
Perhaps they didn’t want to pay for a professional.

The driver who did not apply the brakes,
who felt the bump and carried on,
leaving you alone, afraid,
dying on the roadside,
Only feet from the safety of your home.
Perhaps they wanted to get home to the football.

The officers who found you cold,
who could have called,
who could have cared,
but instead threw you away like rubbish,
perhaps they didn’t want the paperwork.

The bin men who saw you there,
curled amongst old tea bags and banana peels,
who shrugged and tossed you into the truck,
crushed like empty tin cans,
perhaps they were in a hurry to finish their shift.

The neighbour who saw it all,
who watched from behind lace curtains,
walking past our posters each day,
waiting, waiting, waiting,
until the words were too late,
perhaps she wanted to finish her tea first.

So many hands that could have led you home,
so many voices that could have called your name,
so many chances lost to apathy.

Thirteen years of soft purrs and slow blinks,
thirteen years of warmth upon my chest,
thirteen years of love,
stolen in the blink of an eye.