A little rough but number 2/30. Here we go April, here we go.
On the day after the last freeze
When puddles are mirrors
Diesel trucks heave their last shards of salt
Cascade over the curb and mix into sidewalk cracks.
I crunch the last shimmering salt crystals of the year.
There was a black squirrel
All mangled and innards strewn on the street.
Shards had ground his coat grey
Ice had flattened the body.
Down the street a woman bends
So far over I fear her balance will fail
Her dog lapping around a few feet away,
She is ageless at this angle
Red knit hat and full length down black jacket.
20 something picking up a phone
30 something picking up a forgotten child’s toy
40 something picking up dog feces
50 something picking up glass shards.
Big pieces that glinted in the sun
I get closer and see a vodka bottle
Has seen better times.
A faint memory in the night of coarse noise.
I imagine her dog jumped on a bigger slice.
That the kids who threw it last night didn’t mean to turn
Glass ground into pebbles lost in the salt.
I want to say I’m sorry to her.
Want to pick up every shard and pebble of glass
I keep walking,
Making sure to only crunch the salt crystals.