While sitting
in the cafe
about nine-thirty-five,
the sun finally
cracks the storm clouds
and a spear of light
pierces the window
to glare
my glasses
to blindness
thus causing me
to turn my head
left toward
the quiet man
sitting next to me
and see him
crisp to cinders
as if he became
a crushed
charcoal briquette.
copyright © 2020 Kenneth P. Gurney
