They found him on the interstate
several miles from Smith Mountain Lake
slumped over the wheel
with a hole through his head.
They say he posted the whole thing online,
but you won’t find it anywhere.
I guess that’s why God,
in his infinite wisdom, made the movies.
Besides that, it’s getting late.
A fourth day of rain becomes a fifth.
Like hostages cuffed to a radiator
the old pipes start knocking
when the overnight heating kicks in.
Siegfried Baber was born in Barnstaple, Devon in 1989. Since graduating from Bath Spa University with a degree in Creative Writing, he lives and works in the city as a freelance writer, and as a barman in Bath’s finest pub, The Star Inn.
His poetry has featured in a variety of publications including Under The Radar, The Interpreter’s House, Butcher’s Dog Magazine, online with And Other Poems and Ink, Sweat and Tears, and as part of the Bath Literature Festival. His debut pamphlet When Love Came To The Cartoon Kid is published by Telltale Press, with its title poem nominated for the 2015 Forward Prize for Best Single Poem. You can also follow him on Twitter: @SiegfriedBaber