The Innisfree Poetry Journal
by Claire Keyes
I don’t want Catherine to die,
blood on her face, covering her forehead and chin,
her nose spouting blood.
Is she breathing?
If she’s on the operating table,
she must still be alive. She’s still attractive,
but not flashy, not sexy, just doing her job.
Going down into the cellar, freeing the hostage,
ripped into by the psychotic man
who plays the rector in that other BBC series,
but not like this, not Catherine, blood-spattered,
so close to death she must be able to smell it,
dark, clammy, cold as a rapist’s heart.
She lives, her spleen removed.
Depressed. She’s depressed.
The psychotic killer is on the loose,
determined to see his son, her grandson.
She has to survive, has to defeat him
before he kills again.
Oh Catherine, please be continued.
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