Spilt Milk Poem by Harvey Horst

Dear, Raymond
When we were younger
I hit you over the head
with a milk jug.

I'm sorry about that.
But these things happen;
There is no helping it.
Yet still, I think about it.

How the milk leaped
out of the broken bottle
then dove down
onto the plank vinyl.

The way you fell after it.
So limp, I didn't know
how limp you'd become.
And I think about it constantly,

Your burgundy blood
swirling in the pure white pool.
Pushing its tide further and further out.
I can't help but think of it.

What a waste of milk!