by John Grey
He fell, face cracked against sidewalk
harder than a Nolan Ryan fast ball.
Time passed. Dazed and nauseous,
he made animal cries for help.
He tried to stand, staggered,
thumped into a pole and dropped
to the ground again.
He was found with a parchment face,
tongue hung to his mouth’s side
and eyes so stiff it was like
they were painted on his forehead.
Only his fingers moved
and slightly, like a dying bird’s wings.
Rescue did their best not to look
like executioners but there was nothing
they could do.
The man’s life was mere prelude
to just such a drop.
Cops searched his pockets for ID.
He had a name. And maybe he had family.
But nothing he could use right then.
John Grey is an Australian poet, US resident. Recently published in That, Muse, Poetry East and North Dakota Quarterly with work upcoming in Haight-Ashbury Literary Journal, Hawaii Review and the Dunes Review.
Artist: Volkan Yavuz