Police - Dead In His Shack Poem by Paul Warren

I looked at him sitting there
With his head back in a stare
He had a meal and sat right back
And died that way as a matter of fact

In a shack near the beach
He built it when youth was within his reach
And I wondered at his last thought
When his heart gave out in its retort

We placed him on the stretcher then
The rigor mortis without a bend
And a sheet across his face
Into the ambulance for his last race.

© Paul Warren Poetry