AFTERMATH

Heart of granite
shattered by visual torment.
Displaced fragments amass in his throat
threatening to choke him.
His chin trembles uncontrollably.

Implosion of silent anger.
That such sentimentality could lurk
undetected in his psyche
is unthinkable.
Anger becomes blind fury - towards that creature,
but even more so towards himself.

What does this make him?
A soft man-sized mouse
with jelly for nerves - exactly the type
he finds repugnant
and has so often ridiculed.
And he an ex-boxer:
stereotypical hard man,
iron muscled with scars that tell
of a thousand fights hard-won.
When had he ever been afflicted
with feelings?
Not once.

Yet standing here now
in this rain drenched street,
shivering and confused, willing
these fucking tears to dry up
before anyone notices;
he's no more than a quivering mass
of raw emotion - no, worse than that -
of gut wrenching empathy.

And all because of the sight
of something so tiny, so helpless,
that closely resembles a map
of Australia.
A thing completely flat and greyish,
outlined in bright red;
that moments ago
was a frisky squirrel
playing dare with his speeding car.