He lay there silent,
head tipped back,
a look of surprise
fixed in his eyes.
On his head
two black spots lie
separated by a maw
that was not there before.
The line of scarlet
crossed his brow.
He’d not had time
to utter 'ow'.
I remembered then
an old adage;
“Do not remove a fly
from your friend’s forehead
with a hatchet.”
John Carré Buchanan