from the lost diary of Captain Jean Lautrec
As the Times tells it she died
in a crisp white suit as the sun rose.
In the questions that came after, we were not asked
what became of it, whether we cast lots for her blouse
at the feet of her corpse. We were not asked
if we sold it to well-endowed eccentrics,
or if the new light in her flashing eyes
led us to fold it in a pocket.
And when the shift ended, did we transfer it
(still warm) to a box of letters
and money and perfumed handkerchiefs? Nobody asked.
