Skipping Now

by Nathaniel edward Briner

Walking down the street.

No, skipping now.

Nobody seems to mind.

A swing to my step, a hop to my pace.

The ground smiles back at me.

No, it meets me with a stern look. 

Red trickles out my nose.

No, it pours.

I look up to see the trees swaying,

left and right and left and

I’m late for work.

I run down the sidewalk as fast as I can, taking the corners with precise rotation.

I make it to the bus stop and sit down on the bench.

I catch my breath, then look across the street to watch the trees

swaying left and right and left and

my shirt has turned red.

The bus pulls up, stops, and opens its doors.

I decide to skip work and walk home.