As he enjoys the gorgeous summer day,
upon the shady bench under the largest tree
in all the park where he quietly sits lost in deep
contemplation of what his next poem should say,
our poet is suddenly startled into awareness.
“Your wife is okay. She didn’t get hurt.”
There beside him sits a young girl about eight.
“I didn’t see you come up. Are you alone, Miss?”
“No, sir, I am with my father.” Our poet looks
but sees no one else. “What was that you said
about my wife?” “Only that you need not worry.
She is all right.” The road beside the park crooks
sharply to turn into the entrance of the park. Now,
becoming aware of sirens approaching, he turns in
that direction. Something’s going on. It occurs to him
it’s time to meet his wife. Turning back, the girl somehow
has vanished. She isn’t anywhere in sight. “I’ll be
late meeting the wife.” he thinks, hurrying to the entrance.
A wreck! Then he sees his wife’s car-- its side all dented.
Now running, he arrives at the scene desperate to see
his wife. Scanning the crowd, he finds her at the front gate.
“I’m okay. Some teenager lost control on the curve. I swerved
somehow. He sideswiped me, but he hit that other car head-on.
Crying, “It’s terrible. He killed a little girl who was only eight.”
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