Set

The sidewalk isn't one thing.

It’s a series of heavy accidents

poured out and left to harden

before the rain could ruin the finish.

I tripped on a slab the frost had heaved

three inches higher than the rest.

Down there, a child’s handprint from 1994

is filled with a pool of green water.

Near the thumb, a rusted pull-tab

from a soda can is fused into the grit.

A silver ghost of someone’s thirst

trapped in the stone forever.