by Marc Carver
The baby in the pushchair looks at me
so I start to pull a face at him.
He watches me
until his head twists around,
not as far as the girl off the exorcist
until he can no more.
And at that moment
I no longer exist to him.
I am dead.
Not part of his world or any other.
I stand by the newsstand reading all the papers in the shop.
A man comes toward me trying to get a paper
I get out of his way.
"Sorry, there you go."
He says nothing.
"No, really I am very sorry."
He starts to move away
and realize he is not dealing with an ordinary kind of guy.
"Hey, come back I am genuinly sorry."
He walks off.
The little girl in the shop
is clutching a bunch of flowers
as she follows her mother around.
I smile at her.
She walks off
clutching those flowers as I believe
much tighter now
and outside the lightning comes down
and everybody is wet
and nobody knows why they left the house
apart from that little girl
with a present for someone
clutched between her small fingers.