Carnage On The Freeway Poem by Charl JF Cilliers

The helicopter dragonflied
down to the scene where, far below,
those who had or had not died
were arranged in some grotesque tableau.

Some figures squirm in clothes too long
for limbs, some scream like mimes
or a bird shot in mid-song.
The helicopter curls and climbs,

looking for a landing spot, blurring
the screaming faces, the contortions
of bodies reduced to faint lines hardly stirring:
impersonal, motionless, out of all proportion.

Then dipping down, patches of blood
like discarded roses the dying try to clutch,
as if they somehow truly understood
one flower could mean so much.