The Bridge

I once excitedly
tossed a cantaloupe from the
top floor of a
12 storey apartment
block.

Thomas, who was in the
front yard with his
camera phone, filmed it
splinter and crack open
in half
upon the pavement -

we played it in slow motion, I
still recall the distorted
whump as the cantaloupe
thudded against the
flagstones.

Now there are dizzying
sounds of sirens
in the distance. I was
never afraid of
heights,

but the ground looks
so much smaller from here.

My literature teacher
once dictated how a
criminal was accidentally
shoved through
the single glazed
window of a skyscraper;

she described his head
pop open like a cantaloupe
as it connected with the
tarmac below.

The sirens grow closer;
the ground appears further
my heart is a murmur.