Idyll Time

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.