Do not look up
to avoid the prospect
of an anvil falling from the sky.
It is, unfortunately, a common occurrence,
though not discussed at family dinners.
To imagine it is to invite it.
And who talks of near misses?
There are few accounts of the heavy thing
burrowing deep into the earth only yards away.
But wouldn’t you think? With all that sky
and our small heads…
If you do look up
try to be focused—it begins as a black speck
against the lovely blue sky,
a tiny mark becoming
slowly somehow larger.
You have a little time to look around and reflect,
to doubt and to wonder, to deny or disbelieve
in the hurtling destiny of iron
on its way from, seemingly, nowhere.
If you look down
you may see a shadow
gathering where you stand—
innocent of evil, thinking of tomorrow,
and you may feel the small breeze
that billows the curtains
in the pink house with the ivy
on Kalamazoo Road.