A Poetry Sporadical of Repeating Forms
A Poetry Sporadical of Repeating Forms
Mostly, that night, I thought of you.
I’d been ready to go home,
The day’s last bank transaction through.
The boss was talking on his phone.
I’d been ready to go home.
All of them were armed and masked.
The boss was talking on his phone;
Then every office line was slashed.
All of them were armed and masked.
They blew the safe deposit door;
Every office line was slashed.
Wrists tied, we lay flat on the floor.
They blew the safe deposit door;
Bob and Simon tried to fight.
Wrists tied, we lay flat on the floor.
Each man was cut by a captor’s knife.
Bob and Simon tried to fight;
Soon blood was running down their faces.
Each man was cut by a captor’s knife,
Their legs bound tightly with shoe laces.
Soon blood was running down their faces;
My office mate could not stop weeping.
Their legs bound tightly with shoe laces.
For several hours, no one speaking.
My office mate could not stop weeping.
I thought of family, favors due.
For several hours, no one speaking.
I kept wishing that you knew.
I thought of family, favors due.
Then we heard sirens; later, shots—
Watched hands untie us, heard shouts, too.
Mostly, though, I thought of you.
Susan Edwards is a poet and a writer of nonfiction features for New England publications, including The Boston Globe and The Boston Phoenix.