"On a Bench, Breathless" (a.k.a. A Circumstantial Poem about an Event I could do Little About)

"On a Bench, Breathless" came out barely a few minutes after I committed "Malady, M'Lady Melody" to paper. Sitting on a bench in the Sheffield Winter Gardens I noticed that a man was being lowered down by a friend onto the bench to my right. As it transpired the breathless and pale-looking gentleman was having a minor cardiac arrest. With plenty of people hurrying about including a City Ambassador and a Paramedic, I couldn't help but feel ultimately powerless to help this fellow so I did what all good writers do in such situations: wrote a poem about it. I can only hope that the man has regained his breath since...


ON A BENCH, BREATHLESS

A man falls on a bench                      breathless.
We all dither about
interests standing close,
hands sitting                               distant.

We wait for the sirens, the stretcher,
the caring glances.
We wait              a                      while.

The man finds flagstones for the first time
                                            ahead of
him.
Kids rustle paper,
                     sweep past             without
notice.

And the red jacket comes,
calls the green shirt,
brings the black bags.
They land            heavy                  on the
sides.

Seconds pass then the man is
                                            lifted by
busy hands,
                                            emptied from
the building.

He presses the doorway, quivers
                                         out
                                            into
                                                daylight.

We each nod.
We all turn.