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The Construction Site Across the Street
Mark Nemeth

I’m lounging on the balcony reading a spy novel
when I hear his screams. Middle-aged guys
in hardhats run faster than I’ve ever seen them move,
converging on the concrete truck
with its spinning barrel. He’s stuck somehow
between the cab and the drum, by the gears
and the whirling driveshaft,
but they get him loose. Inexplicably,
there’s already a fire truck parked nearby.
The firemen hurry over to examine
the arm he’s cradling. I’m expecting a flayed forearm
or missing fingers, ready for soul-piercing howls.
Instead, he sits down and calmly talks
to the firemen. I catch a glimpse:
no parts missing, no blood. Maybe a tiny bit red.
It’s a relief and a disappointment.

—
Mark Nemeth holds a Ph.D. in civil engineering and works as an engineer for a federal water management agency. His poetry has been published in Abandoned Mine, Last Leaves, and The Rockford Review. He lives in Albuquerque, New Mexico.

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