Wednesday evening | 1 |
as teenage suburbia sang | 2 |
to the soundtrack of opportunity. | 3 |
A chance to break out, | 4 |
to climb the walls and escape. | 5 |
I waited by a garden gate | 6 |
for my friend to click its latch | 7 |
and join me; all the time | 8 |
hearing the muzak | 9 |
of early summer play: | 10 |
television voices, car engines | 11 |
throbbing, ready to go, | 12 |
twin notes of a doorbell, | 13 |
calling, talking, singing birds | 14 |
and my footsteps tapping, | 15 |
heel toe, heel toe, heel toe | 16 |
| |
then, discordant like the drone | 17 |
of a plane flying a bit low | 18 |
or a hurt child wailing. | 19 |
A motorbike vroomed and rizzed | 20 |
past. Too fast. The rider's hair | 21 |
streamed behind him | 22 |
like ribbons on a soaring kite. | 23 |
His leather jacket had a picture | 24 |
of an eagle on its back, his | 25 |
jeans rippled slightly | 26 |
around his legs. No helmet. | 27 |
No constraint. He shot | 28 |
up the hill and vanished | 29 |
over the top. | 30 |
| |
One second to wonder | 31 |
until the bang and all changed | 32 |
in that moment. Nothing | 33 |
except the booming in my ears, | 34 |
the throbbing of blood. I swear | 35 |
the sky turned the color | 36 |
of pale mustard. Suburbia | 37 |
took a sharp intake of breath | 38 |
on a weeknight | 39 |
as a life ended, | 40 |
then it breathed out | 41 |
as if trying to stay calm | 42 |
and got on with it. | 43 |