Flânerie

I hold the button pressed at the pelican crossing to keep myself steady as I investigate a tackiness beneath my shoe. In agony suddenly, I leave the chewing gum where it is to clutch my wrist. A road sweeper has yanked the broom from his cart and brought it down violently upon my arm. He explains that he thought I was being electrocuted, that he needed to knock me off the control panel.

Fractures to the radius and ulna
Retort upon my incunabula.

Dread of Rebuttal

I don’t believe it was lost on the man
Who approached my daughter, that, other than
Some children, no one was around to see,
No grown-ups who might gainsay cogently
His stern claim, only those who were passive,
So that he might be determinative,
Peremptory, without opposition,
By an opportunistic volition.

If it was lost on him – how she trembled –
Then how much his decisions resembled
Cowardice, authenticated yet more
When I stood in front of his car and saw
His eyes fearful at my countenance, there,
Waylaying him suddenly from nowhere.