The Shot

He decides to make a move. 

Is it on impulse?

Or necessity.

He commits to a

a choice, an action;

That no matter what,

He is willing to accept

All that happens next.

Anticipation of

Water splashing high

Onto the woolen dress suit 

Sized to perfection

By the skilled hands

Of a local tailor.

Cleaning isn’t cheap

Nor is it a quick task

Might take weeks

To get it back from the shop 

And at least forty bucks

For the jacket top alone. 

Pants? Twenty-six.

Leather shoes from

Bovine skin wrapped 

Expertly around soles, 

Ankles and toes.

Layered over a nylon

Sock that reaches

mid-calf.

Soaked in cold water 

Clinging to the taught, tender 

Skin beneath it.

Hadn’t the clothing themselves 

Proven to be unnecessarily 

Unforgiving?

And yet this decision

Will only add more

Of that discomfort

To the mix.

Oh well!

No need to worry about all of those details now. He needs to get somewhere, quick!

Like his life depends on it.

And he takes the leap,

I wonder if he knew

That a camera caught

Him in mid-air and froze him in history

Just before the consequence

of his decision

Could ever be seen or felt.

—Ivory Smith