odd to see something
so large
lying
on the street, the horse
turned
over
with the wagon, struck
by a car
at a high speed.
and the man beside
the horse
crying into his hat,
weeping as if
she was a loved one,
a spouse
a child, a friend.
and the policeman with
his revolver,
the single shot
of the gun, bringing
the street
drama to an end.
and yet looking out the window
of my father's
car, i remember
the fruit upended onto the street,
strangely ignored
by everyone,
the apples and pears,
the bananas, broken melons,
all set free.
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