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And Words Are All I Have
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Where Were All the People
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The harried mother leaves the stroller unattended for two,
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in the massive rollout of time.
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One thousand…See how it’s long enough
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for the baby to thrash momentarily inside
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and send the pram on its descent down the subway stairs,
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bouncing almost giddily now,
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one of those overpriced buggies
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with the top drawer suspension.
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Yes, that would have been the perfect time
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for some gallant responder to appear at the bottom,
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returning the swaddled baby unharmed to its weeping mother,
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before rushing off, anonymous, to his day job.
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Where were all the people,
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you may well ask, gentle reader.
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How do any of us make it this far, I ask,
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when three seconds is all it takes for a mother
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to be in need of a miracle.
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The right turn meant to be a left,
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the unbalanced ladder that is scaled anyway,
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the side rail on a children’s slide
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awaiting the simplest of repairs,
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the driver's crimson lipstick
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that needs freshening in her car’s rear-view.
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We can never take enough care.
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Four thousand.
Scramble the hazmat suits.
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What is it in me What is it in me that needs to tell you this? Never More. It will never be more summer than this. This moment. Every petal and bough, every bloom at its most beautiful in hue, texture, depth of colour. Nature at her most potent. She shows off. Tomorrow begins the sad inevitable decline, Her …
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