Sulphurous decomposition leaves a conversation of desiccated remains
and milky white bones beneath a parchment skin.
A rictus grin tells of pain and a tear falls from my eye.
My eye is drawn to a yellow biro pen in the jacket pocket of the corpse.
I wonder who put it there, for later, when it would prove invaluable.
Now I take the pen from the pocket and see it has the lid on still.
I remove a notepad from my pocket, remove the lid of the pen and am amazed to see
that it still works.
Marooned as I am between dessert and volcanic eruption it is all I can do not to cry.
What will become of me?
©2017 Andrew Watkins