a failure of foresight

Don’t kill yourself, (they said),
when he went out to do the walkway
in the dark.
One upstairs, with Netflix on the headphones.
The other snoring in her pillow chair.
Most of the neighbourhood in for the night.
The odd car, trucking bags of groceries
or kids to piano lessons.
So no one found him, behind the boxwood hedge,
until the movie credits rolled
and the sleeper woke with an itchy premonition.

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