I walk toward the bridge she blades toward me I recognize her from my writing class
she always seems happy shes holding a coke in one hand and ink drawings in the other
skating on her way to class wind whisping her hair she glides with no effort past
I am happy to see her for that moment
From behind me I hear the crash that only a falling student makes I imagine her feet slips out from under her letting her buttock take the brunt of the disaster I turn to see her sitting on the ground I go to her the embarrassment she feels is unnecessary as it glows red in her shy face a river of soda flows beside her some is in her face and more on the art she fell on her bad knee my image of her feet taking flight was wrong
I help her gather up her things as an other girl brings a napkin her paintings streaked in cola as her blue slippers speckled in white flowers soaked she smiles and thanks me by name I am surprised that she knows my name maybe I talk too much in class at this moment I feel bad for not knowing her name but have come to know her as the pretty girl.
She goes to class I walk across the bridge while I think that was very romantic if this were a poem we would have coffee talk for hours grow in love and be married but this is no poem this is life she is probably taken and I am gay
Damn