Tide down
with the black bag zipped,
the truck bounces along,
and so it lays
joslted
and forgotten
in the back,
it was a victim
it was a friend
and now its just a blob,
a heap
of bouncing plastic;
the drive continues into the night
down empty streets
and blackened alleys
the street is dead,
just like the mess in the back seat;
on arriving,
men in a smelly uniforms
slide open the doors
pulling out the sack
they place it on a gurney
and rush it into the lab,
where they strip it down
and disect the form
that once used to walk around
and all the while
the whole trip there
the eyes stare out
from the motionless form