Passers-By Poem by H E Alexander

We stared, just stood.
Rain diluting the red blood
as it flowed
from the grey,
still, lifeless body
that lay on the white and black
bed of tarmacadam.
But did we really care a damn?

We watched, saw her fall;
witnesses, one and all.
As her hoary hair flashed,
as her body crumpled
under the weight
of the unseen car that drove
through the dank, dismal rain.
Never would she breathe again.

Onlookers, passers-by;
we would not cry.
No loss to us,
just a frail old woman
that nobody knew.
Soon we would leave this dark
and damp, ugly scene
and then forget what we had seen.

So we just stand and stare
at her pitifully lying there.
No-one to weep,
no-one to grieve
this wasteful loss of life.
Then we detach, disengage,
to make our dreary way home
and leave her there all alone.