Who can catch the girl,
Bounding and skipping
Away from her brother
Into a grimy stretch of
Oakland Park Avenue?

He lunges; she dances
Just out of his reach,
Dismissive of his grasp,
Oblivious to all else but
The game that’s afoot.

Merrily, she leaps
Into the street,
Her fate freely given
To chance that’s as blind
As her unwary mind.

Unblinking eyes
Study her every move;
A low rumble is heard
From the belly of a beast
Approaching from the east.

The girl keeps prancing
As her brother gets scared;
He knows that at 35 M.P.H.,
His sister is easy prey
For the oncoming van.

Another desperate lunge misses;
The girl’s so into her game
She doesn’t see how close
She is to becoming a statistic
Until the very last second.

I gaze down at the girl
From inside my van and wonder
Why life is so fleeting –
So much promise can be lost
With a leap into harm’s way.

It’s a blessing that this lesson
Won’t be learned the hard way;
I saw her carelessness
And stopped my van
Until she finally minced away.

I drive away smiling, knowing that
The only blow she will suffer
Is that which her relieved mother
Will plant on her wayward backside
For playing in the street.

© 2005 by Robert E. Blackwell