Kindred by James O'Sullivan

She heard her own body crack
with the glass that splintered
in the bloodied rain that took
the place of tears that might
once have been,
but never came.
His thoughts were all that reached
his infant son before the future
walked indifferently away from
their mangled bodies,
lying, still, apart.
She came this way several minutes
late and at the last request of her
boyfriend's disorganised charm.
He had come to do what he had
set out to do some other time,
but had instead been here,
not there, as we are,
when we are anywhere.

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