I watched him die in there.
I watched through splintered fissures in the
shattered wooden veneer where
motes of blanched sunlight danced
through holes made by brimming hot steel,
and wholistic resolve.
I could tell he was trying to
say something, because he was wiggling
unusually, and reaching for his pocket…
The last few gasps were
particularly fun for
me. He heaved a lot
(A Haibun is a short prose poem followed by a Haiku).