on friday night after the ninth

Dedicated to the one who left his son behind

i 
slipped silently into the subway
hunched halfway over
fingers touching toes
arms swaying with the 
stops and starts
feet stuttering with the
turns and torques 
stares encircled
you somehow 
still standing 
your body, perhaps,
resurrecting memories of 
pirouettes and pliés
to hold you upright

eyes open
but
gazing into a reality
unbeknownst to the train’s
wide-eyed travellers
some might call 
it a self-induced coma
but only you know 
the heart-break and soul-ache 
that drove you here

you clung to a small tripod
unaccompanied and unattached
its three legs, perhaps,
a remnant of the days when 
moments were to be savoured 
and captured 
by your finely-tuned eye

ii
you slowly scuffled off at rosedale
miraculously minded the gap
above ground and upright
but everyone saw you
would soon
be six feet under
as you leaned against the train
with doors closing 
and the red rocket’s chime 
ringing in your ears

conductor in the caboose concerned 
for weary passengers eager 
for home urging the train forward
unconcerned about your landing place
for the night, or it seemed, ever

i had gently coaxed you
off the ledge
your eyes registering 
a gentle, dazed surprise
as if we had casually bumped 
into one another going 
our separate ways
on this late summer’s eve

i hopped back on to the car
unaware that you were ambling back
again

iii
latané and darley - fifty-five years on
would have been proven right yet again
if he hadn’t darted off 
in his full jays garb
the game long-forgotten

i turned my head 
to see him tenderly guiding you 
by the careful crook of your elbow
toward the tiled walls
broad yellow lettering 
and outdoor ad

perhaps it was the covenant 
house one shouting 
at everyone
how young do they have to be 
before we give a damn

and then i heard a shout
from within
dad!!!

iv
mercifully
summerhill is above 
ground too

Written by Scott Moore
Illustrated by Landon Wideman

Inspired August 2023