Rik George writes

Night Incident

Eastward, rain obscures the dawn. 
Westward, the mountain hides the moon. 
Barking dogs and slamming doors 
have wakened us, to peer at the street 
through red-lit raindrops on our windows. 
We watch the crew roll out the gurney, 
we speculate in quiet voices 
what desperation rides its wheels, 
which neighbor copulates with death. 
Someone starts their car and follows 
the ambulance around the corner. 
Eastward, the dawn breaks through the rain. 
Westward the sun has touched the mountain. 
We wait for news in the morning paper.

Red Rain 2