I Watched As He Died
From behind the half-pulled pale curtains,
porcelain eyes turn glassy,
as he gasped for help that never came.
I watched on, keeping the curtain between us taut
Ensuring the child, shorter than I, couldn’t see through the gap
between life and windowpane.
To the man now panting, straining on the grass
our plot was wet with his breath, an unnatural dew,
I’m sorry I was too young, too anxious to call for help.
He turned his head and held out a brittle hand,
shaking up toward the sky,
He asked his maker to lift him from this stranger’s front yard.
He went quietly, once the sputtering stopped
and I pushed him away with a tug of fabric over glass,
I ushered the child, shorter than I,
back to the kitchen to finish our after-school treat.
We ignored the knocking at the door,
to the man in a blue faded suit, attempting to get in.
Our mother isn’t home, we’d say, she never is.
Thank you so much for reading my poem.
This was based on an experience I had as a preteen. An old man fell and was badly hurt on the sidewalk outside my house. I didn’t know what to do so I watched until an adult finally came. I have no idea if that poor man lived. But to my memory, he stopped moving and closed his eyes.
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