The September Sonnets: XX

while walking home the lights above me
stood still and the street sounds hushed
when the blaring came: the weary men
halted their conversations and the girls
(four walking in arm) left their soprano
in the dust. the screech of the sirens
from three blocks ahead evaded me
as i stepped out into the silent street
thinking the world had fallen quiet
just for my advance. then it turned
the corner as my foot planted on the concrete
—almost grazed, almost dead
by an ambulance's uninterrupted path:

irony is almost being killed by an ambulance.

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