212 – Alligator


Maybe there were voices to tell him
he was Icarus. Maybe it was drugs.
Maybe he’d always wanted to know
what it was like, just for a moment.

No witnesses. No reports. No trace.

From last step to landing a count
of three-alligators. Time enough
to swallow, shout and point out
where he’d barely been.

One-alligator. Two-alligator. Three-alligator.

Quick as we could we started hunting
for the black box. His orange shirt,
the missing sandals on the street below.
Wondering at the firemen in their slow step.

No body. No hurry. Nothing to see here, folks.

The hole he tore in the sky, gone
in under an hour. Traffic back. Food carts
serving up fresh gyros. The garlic sizzle
tears a body up.

No name. No clue. Nothing to do.

Flag still flies at the top
of the mast. Birds meander by.
Never know what happened between
all-knowing and nothing.

One-alligator. Two-alligator. Three-alligator.

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