They found him in a red truck
Red heart in the right place, but stopped beating,
alone and clutching his shirt, a button up, blue collar.
He might’ve tried to call out, call someone, and someone might’ve listened. He might’ve thought
about his home,
about the sky he told me I would miss when I moved away, or
about what he had for lunch,
why a sandwich with extra olives was giving him such indigestion.
He might’ve watched the green little tree swing
from his rear view one last time.
I do miss that sky.
Why, sometimes, is it so hard
to live when everyone dies?
Kath Richards recently graduated with her MFA in creative writing from Brigham Young University, where (among other things) she wrote about romance, vampires, and romantic vampires. She is the managing editor of Soft Union, a forthcoming literary monthly, and her poems and short stories are featured in journals such as Touchstones, Warp & Weave, and The Pensieve.