Lemony sweetness.
The icing on my cookie melted
on my tongue.
I savored its flavor as it blended with
the crumbly cookie, so fresh it
still retained a hint of the oven and
of the baker's spatula that spread
the yellow sugar frosting
on its flower shape.
My treat between buses -- a chai latte
and a cookie, helped shape my little daydream
as I gazed out the window into space.
People, like me, on their way to work,
crossed the street a few feet beyond
the table where I sat, many dragging little
wheeled carts full of paperwork
for their jobs. Cars passed through the
intersection, following the dictates of
the traffic lights, as I planned out paintings,
the outline of a new book, life with
a cherished lover.
Rudely, my little idyll was interrupted.
A car, turning east at the intersection, suddenly halted.
My vision focused from daydream to reality
as a human shape was thrown back, onto the hood
of the silver car that hit him.
The human had taken on the form of a black
umbrella, broken by a sudden gust of wind
as it flew through the air,
then crashed to the pavement.
I'd forgotten that people can bounce.
Once.
The sweetness of that cookie will forever
be connected with the shocked expression
of the man who was hit, as he lay in the street,
wide-eyed, gaping up in surprise
towards the grill of the car that hit him.
