It might as well have been a bomb
From the looks of the remains.
All that was left of the cabin
Was the back wall and black stains.
Any ambulances were gone
By the time we passed the scene,
Although they hadn't left quickly
And the sirens hadn’t screamed.
That half-hour long crawl of traffic,
That moment to rubberneck
And shake our heads, felt bizarrely
Familiar in retrospect,
A queue to the mausoleum
Or to a glimpse of the bier
Where the great leader lay in state
For witnessing, except here
What caused us to pay our respects
Wasn’t the life that was lost,
The great life lived at great cost,
But the black flower itself, the wreck.
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