May 11, 2010
The smell of the iron links—
burns their nostrils.
Chained—wanting to be free...
...from public humiliation
Crying; their wrists red with sores—
"Help us, help us", they scream,
but their voices tuned out.
After hours their necks strain,
and the sun radiates off their exposed flesh.
Cars slow—yellow. Cars stop—red.
Grimacing faces; no one notices.
The man and his "other" woman wish to fall;
crash onto the ground. Cars go—green light.
Anything to break away...
...from the chains.
Their bodies sway, the pain—unbearable.
A moment of breezy air,
as cars glide underneath them.

"We shouldn't have", the woman said.
I love you though was his reply.
"She did this, your wife did this."
I know—silence followed.
No cars were passing; no cars were stopped.
Blood trickled down the lovers wrists;
the sun was gone—night loomed overhead.
& both wished the torture to end.
Hanging, swaying—chained.
Crying, screaming—still chained.

Yellow—a car slows; red—that car stops.
A woman stepped out; the wife.
Shotgun in hand, no words spoken.
The "other" shot first—the wife then spoke.
I loved you.
And as he gazed into her eyes;
a shot to his heart.
Now the widow,
stepped back into her car.
Drove away; leaving their bodies—
hanging, swaying—
chained—to the stoplight...

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