Listen, something bad almost happened Friday morning to a kid from school. He’s okay and all I can really say is that It could have been my kid on the bike. Different day, different luck. The city, the district, and police all say they are taking safety seriously, (by which they mean taking it seriously now) But They didn’t see the feet splayed, black boots, on piano keys At Twin Oaks at Falcon. Landscaping truck swerved side. Unthinkable. (By which I mean ‘on my mind all day’) Dropped stomach, ears buzzing blind, white noise Reassure my child this “distressing incident” Could be anything other than. Did that truck hit a student? (By which he means, could that have been me?) I don’t know, because I don’t know, But maybe. I hope it is nothing. A medical emergency of non-emergence (By which I mean, anyone but my kid) Sirens like air, ubiquitous. The City is “so sorry to hear about this incident.” (By which they mean, I don’t know what I am supposed to say to you, yet.) The crush of the crowd, school drop off, Dropped off. Clutching my boy. Is that kid dead? (By which he means, is that kid dead?) Different day, different luck? Maybe. It could have been my kid on the bike. He’s okay. And all I can really say is that something bad almost happened Friday morning to a kid from school. Listen.
This happened a week ago now and it was a deeply unsettling experience. The kid in question was okay. He ended up with stitches and bruising. This is not something anyone ever expects to happen and certainly not to their child.
I don’t usually publish poetry to my substack, except once last year, but I think part of growing your craft is also growing out of your discomfort and sharing all forms of the writing you do, so here I am, stretching into my discomfort zone with a poem about the surreal morning we had last week.
nxx