- Non-Erotic Poetry
- Faux Pas
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A man lay dying on the cold asphault. I could feel the struggle for his life, the sweaty grunts the paramedic made as he tried feverishly to pour life back into the stiffening body of a once proud man. As I watched the melodrama out of the corner of my eye, I felt rude staring at him laying there dying. Is that a social faux pas, to watch someone die? It felt like walking in on a naked woman, you feel rude and embarrased so you retreat, yet you wish you could stay and look. The paramedic kept on his crusade, forcing life back into the body, but the master had left the house. I kept on walking leaving the flashing lights and sirens to carry away this soul.
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