Stuff Happens by Gillian Lawrence

Murder on Lea Bridge Road

Black-clad figures walked in the night
from work
or lovers and women or clubs
their heads bowed and behooded
as Saturday night beckoned Sunday dawn.

In a drinking hole
one man was down
knifed to his death at the time
his son was tucked into his bed and his mother had kissed
photographs on a shelf
and drawn the sign of the Cross.

The night continued
Nothing to see
Those who strode missed the CID
and the forensic team
and side-stepped
the fluorescent boundary tape.

That April air was spiteful
It stabbed at men’s cheeks
and lurked menacingly by lamp-posts
and bicycle signs.
The night walkers pulled their zips
close on their chins
and imagined warm beds.



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