witness to an event

while standing on the corner watching all the girls go by

(a song sung by the Four Lads, not the Four Lads of Liverpool

but the harmonic Four Lads dressed neatly in permanent tuxedos

and matching pencil-thin bowties)

–– there are the sounds of screeching breaks.

the "screeching breaks” should be the name 

of a rock n’ roll band, a punkish sort-of band,

a no wave band, a band of lunatics who'll

stop you on the street, ask to bum a smoke

then turn your life into a living hell.

but what’re ya gonna do. you state an opinion

then run for cover. that's what. anyway,

who listens anymore? who gives a shit nowadays?

but the screeching breaks of a fast-

moving vehicle was immediate.

then the thud of fatal contact. then the screaming,

curbside onlookers, then the crescendo of commotion

and finally the setting of the scene.

I like the setting of the scene. I rely on the setting of the scene.

the setting of the scene means something beyond the scene itself.

snapshot: having an argument with the wife is a scene.

snapshot: looking down at the Cape Cod Canal

from the highway far above is a scene.

but when someone takes the normalcy of a scene

and creates the setting of the scene, that’s what I like.

but the time will come when the setting of the scene is struck

and everybody goes away.