Listen!
THE ROADSIDE MARTYRS there are no coffins under the crosses they only mark the intersection where the two friends body and soul parted ways and made this place the host of the event bare or studded with glitter leaning over or upright the colors of their plastic flowers faded in the sun their home a ditch their companions weeds the roadside martyrs watch traffic go by with pale eyes they are counting the numbers for us and remaining they are the row fate has surveyed by the highway they offer the meekest of warnings no miracles are accomplished by them the dead stay dead the lame limp but we are reminded that no matter how lonely hatefully or carelessly we've lived when the blow falls strangers crowd around to free us and to lift us away