It was late afternoon in fall or spring
Because we were not wearing heavy coats.
The pale sun was just starting to squinch down.
As we left the library for home
We lingered on the steps saying good-byes.
A man in a brown suit with matching brown shoes,
Wearing a shabby sort of fedora,
With a full paper grocery bag
Crooked in his left arm, a folded newspaper
In his right hand stood at the curb,
Looking left then right before stepping
Into the street. I could not see his face,
So I do not know his expression,
And I am not sure if the squeal of tires
Was simultaneous with the thud,
But I recall my momentary awe,
How your hand grasped my arm,
As we watched him fly into the air,
As if he were somersaulting,
Cans, oranges, bread lifting in an arc,
The fedora sailing up in the wind,
As he crumpled to the pavement like a sack,
And page after page of the newspaper
Dancing between cars and onlookers.
Share this post with your friends.