And is there really rescue in the wind?
A helicopter knifes the sky above
the far end of the bridge. Below: cones,
striped barricades, one blue patrol car.
Leaning against the Taurus, there he is---
the predictably square-jawed trooper masked
in silver aviator frames. He's dressed
and ready to escort you to a less
venial detention. You twitch and pass
the mirrored lenses cautiously by. Dismissed.
Begin your slow ascent. The faintest star
winks just after sunset. Atonement postponed,
you're not the body sought at all, cream puff,
and, knock wood, neither are you dead.
(2010)
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