In five days Raul will die from falling <br />On a knife blade held in the fist of <br />An acquaintance. <br />His good friend Paulo will hold him <br />In his arms and cradle his <br />Shaved head, <br />While Raul’s eyes express surprise <br />At the possibility—no, it is <br />The impending reality—yes, that life <br />Is quickly leaving his body. <br />And Raul’s mind must race <br />To keep up with his soul's <br />Unscheduled departure. <br /> <br />But that will be five days hence. Right now, <br />Raul and Paulo and the rest of their crew <br />Are slogging through the crowded mall, <br />Adjusting loose waistbands, step step; <br />Shifting Sox headgear, three four; <br />Dragging trains of Nike laces <br />Among the threads of frayed pant legs, <br />As passers-by shift and pivot around them <br />One, two, onetwothree.<br /><br />Gary Witt<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/exhibition-dancing-iii-the-foxtrot/
