I try and calm a pleading rant,
I assure her she mustn’t fret,
“I’ll find her, or better yet.”
To a mother whose daughter’s whereabouts scant,
Last seen outside an industrial plant,
To feel as though I were an ant,
Back behind the monolith industrial plant,
Where pillars stabbed into dreary draped skies,
The perfect fog to cover alibis.
I felt the shiver of some syrup coolant,
Sludged against the shadow of the walls,
The stink of some horrible paste,
Glued to me with small aftertaste,
I stopped in my tracks to see a spoil of bums,
Crowded around a neglected old drum,
Soft body lied limp still with charming rose fragrant,
The aftermath of an uninviting vagrant,
Who killed more than he bargained for,
To a mother who saw her daughter nevermore.