This excerpt appears in the NYC journal
section of When You Smile You Let in Light.
It was written Exactly 30 years ago while
I was on break from my factory temp job.
I still remember the sunlight that day.
In
Central Park today, escaping from the office
for
the green wind of park statues and pigeons,
I
was eating a cheese sandwich under the singing
trees
and I heard a cry for help. When I got up
to investigate, the voice seemed further away,
like leaving, so I almost tripped over him
in
my hurry. When I discovered him he was
the
size of a cola bottle. He was shrinking away
fast,
yelling out little lungs. There was nothing
I
could do (thinking maybe I could cup my
hands
about him like a carbonated matchstick)
but
I could only watch him shrink into a cigarette
signature
and blow away like the smallest
wind-up
biplane toy.
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