They draw glances from the road,
Sympathisers and some emphasisers,
Some trudge, some go
between the trees, debris and bodies.
Heads bob along the wall,
Ready to crouch and lie
flowers to a mama, papa
They draw glances from those lost
in the Boxing Day hubbub,
Sympathisers and empathisers
but glances fade and turn away.
You just miss being whole
on Christmas Day.