Focused on the rigid leather tongue
Snapping past steel posts on the wheel,

I didn’t hear his fist find her cheek.
“Big Poppa Blue! WINNA WINNA.”

My back to them when he smashed her
Blond head face first on the Midnight blue

Hood of his 68 Mustang convertible, I didn’t see
Her melt down to the curb.

But, turning away from the screams
Swirling out from the Himalayan Mountain Ride,

I did see those blue-suited fireman beat him bloody
On blasts of Born To Be Wild.

Focused on the flashing white and red
Ambulance, I didn’t notice that she lay

Covered by a sheet, even her face. I hung
My head, hands stuffed in my blue jeans.

John OZ