Flumes Volume 2: Issue 1, Summer 2017 - Page 109

Crosswalk

by Zu Vincent

It happens just in front of him, three girls

stepping into the crosswalk, oncoming cars, trucks

stopping, waiting as the girls dart out, their trio of legs

arms backpacks coattails flying, their long dark hair

winging back their smiles, laughter, hands reaching

forward, feet light over the white painted safety zone

even as the dull-painted black car comes racing up

on the right, swift as a stereotype objects in the mirror

are closer than they appear, too close, too fast his heart

an anchor drifting into the deep of that one slow, bottomless

moment before the black car lurches sideways brakes

screeching, catching the first girl, the fastest girl, and

casting her up in a terrible perfect arc then down

thunk on the black car’s hood. He’d like to believe

the black car hesitated—just hesitated—before it

threw the girl off and hurtled on.

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