Is This A Good Time? By Edward Louis Gold
“So?” A question.
“So.” A declarative.
She wouldn’t call. She wouldn’t write.
She was done.
And with that… She turned away.
Pushing through the noontime throng crisscrossing 57th Street,
She never hesitated. Never turned back. Never glanced behind.
She would not see his stricken, bewildered face. Never see him look after her in stunned disbelief. Never know how long he stared after her. Seconds, hours, weeks? Unmoving as if anchored deep into the sidewalk, oblivious of the hordes pushing, sliding, slamming past him, into him, racing to their destinations.
Places to go. People to see.
And she would not see him, finally, come unmoored and float, directionless, down Fifth Avenue. Never see him turn, for no reason, east on 48th.
And certainly not see him as he passed by the ancient church under the rotting parapet.
Nor see the chunk of distressed concrete as it hurdled towards his oblivious brain.
HVWP COMMONPLACE 34
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