by Peter Franklin
The family crosses the street,
children in tow
not walking fast enough
ducklings gone astray.
While
the semi-truck driver can’t quite
negotiate the turn,
angry motorists honk and flail impatiently,
their lives interrupted
but the goods will be delivered.
They
Are oblivious to the crane operator
lifting the grate
into the path of oncoming pedestrians,
unconscious ballet of balance and nerve.
No one dies today.
Now
Walter is staring at a blank page, in a cabana
near the shore
Words poised, now totally oblivious
to the twenty-eight souls afloat.
To escape the heat, they eagerly
Bathe.
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