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 silly, harmonic Four Lads

dressed neatly in pressed

chino slacks and matching

cardigan sweaters)–– there were 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 for 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 were immediate.

then the thud of fatal contact. then the screaming,

curbside onlookers, then the settling of commotion,

and finally the setting of the scene.

I like the setting of the scene. I enjoy the setting of the scene.

the setting of the scene is the preamble to completion.

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

snapshot: having a beer on the couch is a scene.

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.

the problem I'm having right now is, I can’t remember

where I planned to go with this. so..goodbye.