The street’s rough breath caught my heel

The street’s rough breath caught my heel,

a black lump clinging tight,

a patch of tar, hot and heavy,

sticky like a shadow stretched too far.

It pulled the worn leather slow,

left a dark mark, hard to shake.

I scraped at it in the gutter’s light,

fingernails catching grit and dust,

black stain spread wide like a bruise,

cling and grip and weight that won’t let go.

Stubborn shadow, clinging tight,

something tarred and pulled from sight.