Open Hydrant, August

The city worker cranked the cap and stepped back.

The water didn't arc. It fell down flat

against the asphalt, spreading low and gray,

a sheet that found the gutter right away.

That was all. A pigeon walked straight through —

both feet, no hurry, somewhere else to be.

I was already late and stood there too,

half a block back, not knowing what I'd see.

I've walked this stretch for two years, every other week.

The hydrant yellow, same. I never looked.

Today the water came out wrong and weak

and the pigeon didn't care. I stood there, hooked

on nothing I could name. The worker lit

a cigarette. The water slowed and stopped.

I walked the rest of the block. That was it.

The clinic door ahead of me was propped.