The phone rang in the hall alerting of danger -
"Escaped convict on the lawn!"
the news came too late as rainbow lights,
and screaming cars tore over freshly cut,
sun browned grass towards the little forest hill.
Then shots rang out.
Stunned by the noise of gunfire,
then strangely attracted to the spot
feet neared, crunching twigs underfoot
and stood near the place where prisoner
took his last bit of air and blew his brains out.
No body seen, only blood,
chocolate black, and sticky.
Then the ground drank from it,
soaked it slowly up, collecting it for
growing roots; a tulip bulb lied
deep underground awaiting
new life in Spring.