[John Riley]

Revision

Fentanyl/Only The Young

The funerals drive past
through green to red street lights,
cars led by ghost police
on dying, shiny horses.

No one dare die in my life
who is over thirty.
The young, the needle done,
collapse like freshly clipped roses.

I want them back is what
no poet need ever think.
Those are the thoughts of fathers,
mothers holding dry hands.



***


Fentanyl/Only The Young

The funerals keep driving past
through green to red street lights,
cars led by ghost police
on dying, shiny horses.

No one dare die in my life
who is over thirty.
The young, the needle done,
collapse like freshly clipped roses.

I want them back is what
no poet need ever think.
Those are the thoughts of fathers,
mothers holding dry hands.