Saturday, March 2, 2019

story from a 1989 park

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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