they washed the gravel
with some industrial powder.
in the end, they dug the blood out.
some ran from the veranda,
most stood stock still.
mr. fullerton was first on the scene.
cradled his head with a tracksuit top.
the crossbars were taken down,
blazers weren't ripped that day.
prefects absent from the corridors.
we still kept to the right.
he could name any car
from the sound of its exhaust.
he lived round the corner,
so we had a shared
primary school walk—
adidas bags rattling with empty lunch boxes.
we were given the day off,
came to the funeral in uniform.
third years stood at the back of the cathedral
by the mechanical votive candles.
when they set down the coffin
his mother screamed
over folk group guitars.
