The concrete looks too thin to break my fall.
I heard a scream inside this nighttime scene.
The drunken man below looks too thin to think at all.
I’d forget this, but I can’t.
The concrete upon which he stood looks too thin to hurt my feelings at all.
I’d pressed his buttons, but this voice of mine shakes with a soft mumble.
His voice rises, then lowers like floors in a box with closed doors,
like an elevator.
I’d hit rock bottom, but the concrete looks too thin to think at all.
(© 2020 Andrew Cyr)