The Man Who Crossed West 25th Street

a Poem

Photo by Sacha Roux on Unsplash

He wobbled from left to right,
right to left, weaving through
traffic as he crossed the street
unaware of his possible death.

Four to six lanes spread across,
cars honking, brakes screeching.
He was numb from alcohol, or
as some would say the “sauce.”

As I stood back and watched,
I was bewildered at his luck.
Any of us, sober as such, likely
would have been struck.

Although I was a few years
past five, I knew to pray…
dear God, keep him alive.

He’s my dad, don’t let
him die.

As I looked from afar, my
palpitations slowed down.
He made it across without
getting hit by a car.

Was God watching over
my dad that day?

© Rita Duponty, May 2020